


King by Fear and Fables

by SnowF



Series: For reasons wretched and divine [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU of an AU, Age Difference, Birds of a Feather AU, Book & Show verse, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Allies, F/M, Forced Marriage, Graphic Description, Morally Ambiguous Character, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Canonical Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, OC, Political Alliances, Prisoner of War, Scheming, War, very ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2020-04-23 09:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 44
Words: 186,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowF/pseuds/SnowF
Summary: "Some consider a weapon can change ownership.- And yet it remains soaked with its first owner's blood."***Things do not always go the way they should - a lesson Shara Arryn knows only too well. Patient as always, she has planted the seeds of Stannis Baratheon's victory and waits for the right moment for her schemes to come to fruition under Tywin Lannister's keen eye.But though the seeds may be strong and her trust in Stannis Baratheon unwaivering, some things never go the way they should. Or perhaps some people make sure they do not.Choices have consequences, they say, and trust, once broken, can never be mended. But it can be shattered. And weapon can change ownership; it can draw the blood it was bound to protect.And so she will.***[AU of Birds of a Feather (alternative route and ending). Begins immediately after chapter 8. Reading the first eight chapters of BoaF is probably required to understand the full setting]





	1. Speaking in sombre tunes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Birds of a Feather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601116) by [SnowF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowF/pseuds/SnowF). 



> As promised, the Tywin AU! As written in the summary, this AU begins immediately after chapter 8. 
> 
> For those of you who have read Birds of a Feather: you probably won't need to read it again: I made sure to be clear on where and when this fic begins in the main timeline. Be warned, though: the tone of this fic is going to be way darker than BoaF's and Shara's character will evolve very differently from her canon self (then again, in a darker way).
> 
> ***
> 
> For those of you who just stumbled across this: I can't advise you strongly enough to at least take a look on Birds of a Feather (first fic of the series). This fic is an AU of an AU, and I won't repost here the first eight chapter of the main story.
> 
> Though I could understand if you didn't want to, so quick summary: Shara Arryn, daughter of the late Jon Arryn, was conveying information and intelligence to Stannis Baratheon unknown to the Lannisters. After warning him of Tyrion's wildfire plot, she managed to save most of his fleet but was smoked out and betrayed. She only survived execution because Tywin Lannister offered her to marry him in exchange of some measures of freedom. Though she still ignores the real reasons behind this offer, she officially renounced her previous allegiance and managed to work in Stannis' interests by slightly influencing Tywin's plans with Sansa Stark and the Red Wedding. All she needs now is a way to contact Stannis Baratheon to make sure he benefits of her schemes. 
> 
> ***
> 
> I will update this fic once per week, given that I'm still in the process of writing it. As usual, comments are grandly appreciated and I hope you'll like this version of Shara's story!

The Red Keep’s atmosphere was a strange one ever since the Dornish party arrived. Prince Doran, against all odds, came in person to attend Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell’s wedding. _I would not have betted,_ she could not help musing. The man was old, and he was sick. He hardly walked anymore, and preferred to remain on his wheeling chair to hide his distorted and feeble limbs under a colourful veil. But he came, with quite the party; his brother Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, had remained in Dorne. _That is a wise decision, at least._ Letting Oberyn Martell attend the wedding at his stead would probably had ended up in a full-fledged war between the crown and Dorne. The man was not called the Red Viper for no reason.

She hardly ever saw the party, really, before tonight. The crown had decided to organize a feast to welcome the Dornish prince, and she obviously had to attend it alongside Tywin. He was tensed, even more than usual, and she had little troubles imagining why. The Martells were fierce enemies of the Lannisters, and the fact that they remained meek and silent for so long was no good omen. Her father managed to convince them not to wage war against house Lannister after the Sack of King’s Landing and princess Elia and her children’s terrible fate, but she could not believe they completely gave up on their desire for vengeance. _I would not have, and I am not Dornish._ Tywin truly needed something from Dorne to accept to welcome them within the Red Keep – what, she ignored.

She was sitting at her place, near the Hand’s seat, when she saw him arrive in the Small Hall through the door that directly led to the stairs climbing up to their apartments. The king and the queen mother were not there yet, but still the entire room fell silent when he walked straight to his table. She rose from his seat and curtsied, cautious. He waited a few seconds and gestured everyone to return to their conversations. Every other man would have faked a smile, but he did not. He simply looked at her and extended a hand sternly. She walked around the table and took his arm, obedient. _Now, what does he want from me?_ She side-glanced at him as they headed straight to the Dornish table.

The entire table rose again and stiffly bowed, except of course prince Doran who remained seated. The two men looked at each other for a second, and, at the same time, gestured the table to sit again. She curtsied again when the prince turned his eyes on her. The man was as weak as she imagined, almost curled-up in his wheeled chair, soft and shapeless. And he looked older than his years, as if his gout had somehow doubled his age. But his eyes – his eyed made up for his body’s weakness. There was a fire in those dark eyes. Intent, determination. And absolutely not reverence for the Hand of the king who proudly stood tall in front of him.

 

“I wish I could have risen with the rest of my men,” he quietly said, a discreet accent ringing in his voice. “But you find me unable to.

\- Your presence is enough of an honour you make to the king. I trust your journey was good?

\- As good as it can be.” The prince looked at her again. “Lady Lannister. My congratulations for your marriage again.

\- Thank you, my prince.

\- Your father was a great man of an unimaginable wisdom. His death is a terrible loss for the kingdom.

\- It is, indeed.”

 

He was staring right at her and she stared back. She had no idea what he was searching for. The ghost of her father? _He must be disappointed._ The righteous Jon Arryn would have never accepted what she accepted, and he knew that. Maybe he was trying to see the Arryn through the Lannister veneer. Her heart tightened at the thought. There was no one left in this world to call her Shara Arryn, except herself to ease her conscience. And it would only get worse. The more she remained under the Lannister yoke, the less of an Arryn she was. Up to the point where there would be no Arryn left in her. _I need to find a way to contact Stannis and tell me about Sansa Stark._

But she did not say anything. She kept her chin high, until Doran Martell turned her eyes back on Tywin Lannister. The fire in his eyes redoubled. If it was not lost to her, then it could not be lost to him either. She felt him tensing even more as he looked down at the prince of Dorne.

 

“There had been talks about your brother coming instead of you,” Tywin continued. “I see you preferred to come yourself.

\- Oberyn is hot-blooded, as most Dornishmen are. This... Wedding of yours commands for more clear-sighted and cold-blooded actors.” He paused, smiling. “We would not want your grandson’s marriage to be ruined by my brother’s bad temper, would we?

\- How thoughtful of you.

\- Some things never change.” He looked around. “This place has not. I remember feasting here, before my sister Elia’s own wedding. You were there, as Hand of another king. Do you remember?

\- I do. The festivities were lavish.”

 

She could almost feel the tension that was rising between the two men. Doran Martell may have been more cautious than his brother but he was no less thirsty for vengeance. Just in a different way. She kept quiet herself, guessing that it was not the time to make some snarky or witted comment. What was unfolding before her eyes was nothing less than an act of war. The discreet kind, but an act of war still. Absolutely still and hoping both of them would forget she was there, she simply looked at both of them in turn.

 

“They were. They were worthy of a future king and his future queen. Alas things do not always go the way they should.” The tone of his voice had not changed, and yet she heard the threats it barely veiled. “Let us hope this wedding ends better than my late sister’s. I do hope this kind of things can change.

\- There is no war to threaten them.

\- Is there not? I would have sworn war was raging up in the North, until their King and his family got slaughtered under the Freys’ roof,” he retorted. His eyes turned to her. “I would have sworn your wife here was your own spoil of war. Was I mistaken, Lady Shara?

\- No, my prince, I was.” _How painful it is to say it again._ “I have forsworn my illegitimate allegiances and returned to his majesty’s peace. Lord Tywin’s offer…

\- What did it take to make a renegade so pliant, Lord Hand?”

 

She bit her lips. That was a low blow, and a harsh one – but she could not blame him. She was a Lannister, by the Gods and the men’s laws. If he knew as much as he seemed, he knew she played a part in the Red Wedding. To his eyes, she was just another Lannister, another murderer in the making. _Fair hair, fair eyes, wicked heart and wicked mind, where is the difference for a man who yearns for vengeance?_ Tywin said nothing for a while, but she had no illusion. He was not hurt by the insult. He was just gradually getting more and more annoyed by the entire situation, by the _arrogance_ of the Dornish prince he invited under _his_ roof.

And probably by the silence that had fallen around them. The entire room was quiet, as if it had realized what was happening between the almighty Hand of the king and the cautious prince of Dorne. Even the few Tyrells who had accepted to join the feast remained silent, even Lady Olenna in the opposite corner of the room. She did not have to look at her to know exactly what she looked like – interested. Probably even entertained by the spectacle offered by the two men. And it lasted, lasted. _Too long, someone has to stop it._ No one would. No one would dare. _Then I will._

 

“With all due respect, my prince,” she said, her voice clearer than her thoughts. “I do not consider myself pliant. I simply regained reason and saw where the realm’s best interests lie.

\- So it is reason that guides you?” The prince turned his eyes on her again. Tension decreased ever so slightly as his attention turned to her as well. “Reason guided your father, my Lady, when he came to Dorne with my uncle’s bones to broker peace. I do not think reason is the right word for what you regained.

\- I do believe it is.” Tywin’s voice rose higher than both Shara and Doran’s, imperious as ever. He instantly grabbed her arm. “Let us not dwell on such unpleasant thoughts. It has not been long since Lady Shara’s father passed and we would not want her to mourn tonight, would we?

\- Of course not. We shall discuss these _unpleasant_ matters in other times.”

 

The Hand was going to reply when the great doors opened on the royal family, king, queen-to-be, queen mother and her other children. The entire room rose again and deeply bowed. She curtsied while they walked to the high table, in front of the Dornish. King Joffrey took his time before he sat and allowed the rest of the room to do the same. Tywin immediately headed back to the table, taking her with him. She could feel the lingering gaze of the prince on her back as she followed him.

She sat and barely listened to Joffrey’s lofty speech. _Written by some sycophant of his, no doubt,_ she mused as she eyed the Dornish table. Doran Martell was listening, a quiet smile on his lips, as if nothing had happened before the king entered the room. He was not looking at her anymore. Enjoying the few moments of peace she was offered by the king’s blabbering, she looked around her. Very few Tyrells, many Lannisters, of course, and most of the usual members of the court, except Sansa Stark. _Baelish is not there either,_ she noticed. He was already gone, to accomplish whatever mission the king was foolish enough to entrust him with. She had a foreboding of all this, but she did not manage to know why exactly. He did not seem to be in such an urge to leave when she saw him, and whatever he had to do could not be so important as to leave before the Dornish welcoming feast. _Except if he decided he had to do something else beforehand._ She shrugged away her discomfort when she saw the first plates arriving.

It could have felt like her wedding’s feast all over again but thankfully she was the centre of attention tonight. Given that she was seated away from the king and at the edge of the table, with only the Hand next to her, no one could bother her with unwarranted comments. Tywin himself was not more talkative than usual. _Tenser than usual, however._ His eyes hardly left the Dornish table, and they were cold as ice. He was not even talking with the king next to him. _He is too hypnotized by his future wife to even care about his grandfather._ She kept quiet for a while, and eventually decided to make the most of her position. She softly cleared her throat and side-glanced at the Hand.

 

“You must really need Dorne to accept so many slights in so little time,” she said, still looking at the room in front of her. “Is princess Myrcella’s betrothal not enough of a guarantee for the crown?

\- Your wits are not warranted tonight, my Lady.

\- No, they are not. Why do you think I accepted these slights as well?” She frowned, slightly. “You are welcome, of course.

\- And for what, if you please?

\- Why, for using my father’s death as a way to end a painfully tense conversation with a dangerous man of course. Although I must say mourning is not my strong suit, you are lucky Doran Martell does not know me at all.”

 

She turned her head to him. The lightness of her tone did not match the gravity of the situation, but there was hardly anything she could do about it given that she knew nothing of its whys and wherefores. _He is not going to tell me,_ she thought. At least not here, and not now. It made sense, of course. If he was trying to win Dorne over to fight against Stannis Baratheon, he was obviously not going to tell her. Their last conversation had been quite clear on her allegiance, regardless of what she pretended with Doran.

He remained silent for a while, but she could have sworn there had been the shadow of a smirk on his lips for an instant. She did not insist. If anything, the evenings she spent trying to get her ways with him had taught him that there was no point in being insistent with Tywin Lannister. There was more to lose than to win in this kind of game. The third meal had just arrived when he turned his eyes to her as well.

 

“I suppose you cannot be the only one taking advantage of your position.

\- One could say taking advantage of my father’s death is quite distasteful.

\- Then Doran Martell and I share the burden of it.” He was not eating much, just pushing things around on his plate. Much like her, really. “Not that you care at all.

\- You said Oberyn Martell was supposed to come in his stead. Would you rather have him here?

\- Do you take me for a fool, Lady Shara?” He frowned. “My listening to your flights of fancy does not change anything to your status. Do not mistake tolerance for permissiveness.”

 

She turned away, her face clouded over. She had not forgotten her status. She knew she was still a prisoner – a spoil of war, as Doran Martell said. And she would remain so. _How terrible a fate this is,_ she mused bitterly. So long as she remained within King’s Landing, at least. She had hoped, for a second, that the prince of Dorne might be the way out she was desperately looking for; a way to reach the outside world, and contact Stannis. But given the way he looked at her, talked to her and considered her, he would never even grant her a talk. And cautious as he was, if she tried anything he would immediately tell Tywin about it, if only to protect himself and Dorne.

 _Perhaps Oberyn Martell would indeed have been better._ He was half-crazed, but she knew her ways with men. She might have found a way to win him over. Perhaps she would have died in the process, poisoned or whatnot, but at least she would have had a chance. With Doran, she had absolutely none. That was a game she could not play in her position.

 _I need to find a way._ If not, sending Sansa back to the North would be useless. If Stannis did not know the reason of her disappearance, and did not meet her, there was absolutely no use to her plan except strengthening the Lannisters’ hold on power. _Thus making me working in their interests instead of his._ It was already hard enough to pretend to have found solace in her _redemption_ , she could not fathom the idea of actively working for Stannis’ enemies. And hers. The very cause of her downfall.

The feast ended eventlessly. Guests gradually left the hall to return to their apartments and the evening came to its end when both king Joffrey and prince Doran announced they would do the same. She waited for their parties to have left the room to head to the Hand’s apartments. She went alone, except of course for her guard, for Tywin had to speak with the king. She found her maid there and let her comb her hair, undress than re-dress her for the night. Her guard remained by the door when she left, preventing her form doing anything suspicious.

Her entire brain was working to find a solution, any solution, to actually make her plan work. She had found the right person to take Sansa out of the city, Brienne of Tarth, and she had the ship to take them both to White Harbour. She simply had to wait for the right moment to trigger it all. But she had no way to control what would happen once they would arrive in the North. Obviously the Boltons would know their part as soon as Tywin would himself be aware of her plan’s success, but what about Stannis? _He will know about it, obviously,_ she mused. _But he will not understand what role he has to play._ He was not clear-sighted enough to guess, and none of his advisors were either. He needed _her._ And she needed someone to help her help him.

 

“Do you ever stop plotting?” she heard from the other side of the room. She almost jumped; lost in her thoughts, she had not heard Tywin arriving and dismissing the guard. “I take that as a no.

\- I was simply thinking, my Lord.

\- In your case I hardly see the difference. What was it, this time? Some clever plan regarding Dorne?

\- I thought I was not supposed to take your tolerance for my… How did you call that?” She rose from her seat and walked to his desk where he was putting so parchments in the locked drawers. “Flights of fancy? For granted.

\- You can jest all you want, but it does not hide your frustration.”

 

She gritted her teeth. There was no blame in his words, he was simply stating the obvious. Whatever leverage Petyr Baelish imagined she had on him, she only had because _he_ allowed it. The sheer power she felt when she convinced him to let Sansa Stark go now tasted bitter in her mouth. She had not won anything at all. She had simply provided him with a plan that pleased him enough to let her play. _And hopefully lose, to give him a reason to send me straight to Casterly Rock and be done with me at last._ She was not going to give him the pleasure, obviously, but if he was no fool, she was not either. She knew exactly what he meant to achieve.

Once close enough, she smirked and shrugged. They were alone now – she had no reason to restrain her _frustration._

 

“Well, it takes one to know one, does it not?” She saw him frown as he closed the drawer. “The Dornish situation is obviously not satisfying for you, especially if you meant to broker some alliance with the south.

\- This does not concern you in any way,” he retorted. “Arrogance will not lead you anywhere, except in…

\- A cell, out of which you took me on your own will? Or in Casterly Rock, perhaps. Let us spare ourselves these pleasantries, my Lord, as long as Sansa Stark is still within the Keep it is not in your best interest to harm me.

\- Then do not give me any reason to change my mind about your freedom.”

 

She scoffed. This time, he raised his head and planted his eyes directly in hers. His green, emerald eyes, staring right at her. She did not cower. She stood tall. Tywin Lannister was not right when he said her status had not changed. It had. Now he knew exactly she was capable of, he knew she was a true weapon. He could very well pretend he forgot about this conversation but she did not. She still ignored most of the reasons why he married her in the first place, but now he needed her for that plan. Obviously he could do it himself, and if anything it would be easier. But this was personal. Everything now was personal.

 

“You speak of freedom, all I see are these walls. My cell is just bigger than it used to be, but a gilded cage remains a cage,” she snapped back. “I do not take you for a fool, Lord Tywin, but what about you? Do you really believe I am _thankful_ for the size of my cell, or the fact that you make the most of my plans?

\- Who do you think you are, Shara Arryn, except a glorified prisoner? Your mind may be sharp and you wits may be strong, but so long as I draw breath you shall never be anything but a prisoner.” He was practically groaning and it somehow sounded more terrifying than anything she had heard before. “If anything, the fact that you shared your so-called brightness of mind made you even more of a prisoner than you already were.

\- Come now,” she giggled. “Does my mind frighten you? Have you suddenly realized that you do not own the weapon you keep locked-in?

\- It obviously did so much good to Stannis to have you as a weapon. Remind me, my Lady, what did you ever do for him except losing a battle?”

 

His eyes were furiously burning, and the desk that stood between them seemed like a sorry shield against his sudden anger. But she was angry too. And as his words sunk in, her anger turned to fury as despair tainted it. _He is right,_ some part of her mind whispered to her. _What have I ever done for him?_ She spied. She relied information, some crucial, some less so. She warned him about the wildfire plot. She helped him spare most of his fleet.

But she also had one of his possible ally killed with most of his family during a wedding. She was going to send away the last surviving Stark to allies of the Lannisters, and without any mean to reach him, she would be lost to him. The Vale, through her marriage, was allied to the crown as well and there was _nothing_ she could do if she was ordered to call her bannermen against the Baratheon armies. Suddenly her legs felt week and she feared she might collapse.

But she did not. She kept perfectly still, her fist clenched at her sides. She kept her eyes in his, her chin high. His face remained unshaken for a while, until a smirk distorted his lips cruelly.

 

“You are so full of yourself that you cannot face the truth. You have _lost_ , Shara Arryn. Doran Martell is right, you are my spoil of war and you shall remain so.” His voice was icy and yet every each of his words burned her. “So it matters really little that you consider yourself as Stannis’ weapon still. Even if everything you did is supposed to aid him, you have no way to ensure he takes advantage of it. You have lost.

\- Perhaps so.” Her own voice was cold, emotionless, matching the stony face she showed. “But you have not won yet. Stannis’ army is still strong out there. Half of the North does not yet fully follow the Boltons. Dorne is very far from being on your side. The Tyrells are probably already plotting against you.

\- I will not…

\- You are right when you say I have done more for you then I have done for Stannis. But you are so _full of yourself_ that you cannot face the full extent of what it means: without me, you would have no strong ally in the North. Without me you would have kept Sansa here, useless as she is.” She made one step toward him, her anger speaking of her. “Without me you would not be any closer to victory than Stannis is. That is the truth: I may have lost, but you keep me here because _you know_ I could make sure you do as well.”

 

Silence replied. Silence, and Tywin Lannister’s burning eyes. He said nothing. Did nothing. He did not agree nor disagree. He did not need to. In her anger she suddenly saw crystal-clear in him. All this time he tried to have her believe that not only that she had lost, but also that there was nothing she could do to change her situation. The truth, the bitter truth, the cold truth, was vastly different. She had lost indeed, and maybe she had no way to contact Stannis to make sure it would change. But what she did _for_ Tywin could very well turn to ashes in his hand if she managed to reach him. And he knew that. _He took that risk_ because he saw the benefits of having her forcefully work for him. To forcefully use Stannis’ weapon against him, and for himself. _I have not switched hand, my Lord._

He never said anything. He just walked past his desk, past her without a single glance, and left the room. The guard reappeared inside and ordered her to go to the bed. _I have no lost everything,_ she decided as she obeyed. _I have not lost our war yet._ And he had not won. And he would not.


	2. No turning back

She did not see Tywin nor speak with him for the next few days. She spent her days everywhere except where he was and returned to their room in the evening before he did. She usually fell asleep before he arrived, and woke up after he left. The most rational part of her guessed that he was trying to convince Doran Martell to accept whatever he was offering him. The least rational interpreted his absence as the main proof that she was right to think he somehow feared her. _Which is probably not true, but still is comfortable to believe._

Especially as her efforts to find herself a mean to reach Stannis all failed. The Dornish party had been instructed to never mingle in the Red Keep’s affairs, especially those concerning the Lannisters and she was part of them. The Tyrells were obviously not going to indulge in her schemes. She was nowhere near a solution, and as she gradually came to the conclusion that the wedding would be the best moment to trigger Sansa’s escape, the more days passed the least hope she had to find a quick solution before she _did_ escape.

She reached the day before the wedding without being any closer to a way out. She still hoped the wedding itself would bring more opportunities, but she could hardly shrugged off her growing despair. The possibility of her spending her entire existence within these walls, or what remained of it anyway, was getting more and more plausible and given Tywin’s words, she could not even imagine to ever be anything but a lifelong prisoner of either the winning party of the war… Or the losing. She could not decide which possibility was the worst.

The king had decided a few weeks ago to summon the entire court for a full audience the very day before his wedding, pretending that the very last day of the century was a fitting day for such a grandiose display of power. People from all around the realm were invited to come to address their grievances to their king. This was obviously not his decision, but more probably Tywin’s – presenting him as more merciful and more interested in his people as he actually was could not be his own idea. No one was supposed to miss the event, including her. In a twisted way, it reminded her of the exaggeratedly long session of pardons and execution they organized after the Battle of the Blackwater. _I can only hope I will not have to throw myself to the ground again._  

For a while the whole audience grew eventless. The entire morning unfolded as it was supposed to: boringly. The peasants begged for more food, the city dwellers for more houses and coins, and Joffrey did not even pretend to be interested. At least this time they had the decency to have her sit with the rest of the royal family, albeit way higher than Cersei, Tommen and the rest of the Lannisters. Tywin was standing next to the iron throne, unwavering despite the hours that passed. _Well, I have to admit this is impressive in its own right._ She herself was on the verge of falling asleep, like most of the courtiers and the small Council’s members.

She only awakened from her slumber when she saw none else than Jaime Lannister burst into the room through the small Council’s room’s door and head straight to his father. He whispered something to his ear. His back was turned on her so that she could no see his reaction, if any, but he replied something and his son disappeared under the arcades again. For a while nothing happened, until the one peasant who was talking was done. He immediately clapped in his hands.

 

“His majesty wishes to take a few minutes for himself,” he declared in a strong voice. “We shall continue when he is reinvigorated.”

 

 _Something is happening._ Joffrey did not seem to know what, given the way he looked at his Hand when he led him straight to the small Council’s room, and neither did Cersei nor the rest of his advisors. None of them darted a look at her, except Tywin himself. He stared right at her, the same fire in his eyes as he had a few nights ago. She watched him disappear as well, unable to understand what owed her this kind of look. _What is going on?_

The court understood that something was happening, but they did not know more than she did. Given that her guard remained at her side, she decided not to move and remained at her place, basically alone now that most of the royal family was gone. But the calm around her did not match to the turmoil in her mind. _What happened?_ How could it have anything to do with her? _Maybe he thinks it has._ If it were the case, then it meant it had something to do with Stannis. _Oh Gods what did he do?_ Her heart was beating desperately slow in her chest and the heat of the room made her feel dizzy.

And it lasted, lasted, lasted. More than a few minutes. And no one was allowed to leave the room, let alone her. She was to stay, on display for the whole court who eventually decided that if the entire royal family had left and not her, then it obviously meant she was involved in whatever happened. _Please, please do not tell me he died. He cannot be dead. Who could have killed him?_ There was no battle happening. He had not left Dragonstone yet. He had no reason to be dead. _Please, please, no. Everything but that._ It could not this easy. Maybe somehow Brienne had said something? _She knows nothing of the plan yet. She has nothing to say._ She had told no one, not even the sailor who would take them North. He would not know until he had to actually take them on his ship. _So it must be Stannis. Please let it not be him._

She almost had a start when she heard the door opening again. They all reappeared in the most deafening silence she had ever heard, more than an hour after having disappeared. They all regained their seat without a glance at her. Tywin himself ignored her presence. The king sat on the throne and let silence linger for a few seconds.

 

“Let the prisoner in.”

 

 _The prisoner?_ The great doors slowly opened on Jaime Lannister and another man in chains. He pushed him inside the throne room, again and again until he almost reached the stairs that led to the throne. He was wearing rags, and he was covered in blood. _Fresh blood,_ she immediately understood. The man had just been tortured and could barely stand. He was dishevelled, wounded, broken. The sheer sight of him sent shivers down her spines, and given the court’s reaction she was not the only one. But she did not recognize him. She had no idea who he was.

 

“This man,” Joffrey declared in a high-pitch voice. “Sneaked into King’s Landing to make an attempt on my life, on our lives, on the order of my own uncle, the traitor Stannis Baratheon. Do you deny that, felon?

\- I do not.” His voice was cracked but strong. “His majesty the only rightful king Stannis…

\- Silence! You shall only talk when asked by your king!

\- You are no…”

 

He could not finish. Jaime Lannister kicked him, strong enough for him to fall on his knees groaning. Shara felt as if the blood in her veins had frozen. _Why did he send men into the capital? What was the plan?_ It made no sense that he would do something like that. Stannis Baratheon was not the kind of men to send _spies_ or _assassins_ to kill his enemies. He reduced them to ashes on the battlefield, as the righteous and honourable man he was. She gulped, painfully, clinging unto the arms of her chair not to fall.

Tywin walked to the edge of the stairs, in front of the throne. He stared down at the man. _Alone. A man alone cannot kill a king, or anyone in that matter._ He was supposed to make an attempt on Joffrey’s lives… And on ours lives. On the entire Red Keep? The court? The Lannisters? Her mind was working as fast as possible but she did not, could not understand the plan he was supposed to follow. It did not sound like Stannis Baratheon at all.

 

“This man and his now dead fellows,” Tywin continued. “Was found by the Alchemists’ Guild trying to enter the galleries under the city. Repeat what you told us.

\- I have no order to receive from the Lannister scum!

\- Your king orders you to speak! You will obey my Hand or you will die!

\- I choose dea--” This time, Jaime Lannister grabbed him by the collar to put him on his feet. He said something to his ears before releasing him. “You all will die under Stannis Baratheon’s rightful flames, as you should have died already!

\- I see we cannot expect much from traitors commanded by traitors. This man was sent by Stannis Baratheon to destroy our city, our castle, to kill our king with the traitor’s favourite tool.”

 

 _Fire._ Wildfire. The court gasped as the prisoner chuckled lowly. _No, this cannot be it. Stannis would never do that._ Stannis would never destroy an entire city, kill every each one of their dwellers. The only reason why he wanted the crown was because he considered it his _duty_ to _the people._ He would not simply burn them alive to become king. Not him. Not after what he saw during the Battle of the Blackwater, not after watching some of his men dying in agony because of it. She slowly shook her head, but nobody saw it. _This cannot be the plan._

 

“But that much we knew already, for you talked forcefully. But we cannot believe your words when you say you acted alone,” Tywin Lannister continued, walking back and forth on the throne’s stand like a lion toying with his prey. “You could not have entered the city and gone so far without allies from within.

\- The entire kingdom despises your Illborn king and prays the Lord of Light for his one true king. We have allies everywhere, more than you could count.

 _\- Name them._ Name your allies, and you might be afforded a painless death.” Joffrey was jumping on his throne, unable to remain seated. He was beyond excitation. “Name them!

\- I do not know their names.

\- Let us make it easier for you, felon. Let us give you some names, to see if we can help you remember.”

 

Tywin Lannister slowly climbed down the stairs until he reached the fifth. Just enough to remain higher than the man, but low enough to be close to the crowd of courtiers. None of them even dared to breath. They were perfectly still, as if fearing their names might be uttered. The silence lingered, lingered for so long, until eventually the Hand pronounced one name.

She barely heard it. Her blood instantly began to throb at her ears, preventing her from really hearing the whole court gasp again. Every eye turn to her, except for Tywin’s who kept his back turned on her to face the prisoner. Even her guard stared at her. _Shara Lannister, née Arryn._ Her blood felt like ice in her veins. Her heart was beating so slowly that she feared she might just collapse on her seat.

And he laughed. The prisoner laughed, as if it were the greatest joke he had ever heard. He laughed and it was all she could hear. It echoed under the high ceilings, under the arcades, it reached the stained glasses and the banners on the walls. It surrounded her like a deathly litany. And for some reason, she slowly rose from her seat. Her field of vision was so small she could only see Tywin’s back and the prisoner, his bloody smirk and his bloodshot eyes. She could not think of anything, except one thing. _Please. Please, no. Not like this._

 

“Answer the Hand’s question!

\- Shara Lannister? Our ally?” He laughed again, and again, and again, and it felt like an eternity. “The Lannister’s whore? _Our ally?_

\- Did she help you get inside the city, yes or no?

\- We would have rather died than accept the bitch’s help.” His eyes fell on her directly. “Traitress to your king, you deserved the green flames as much as the rest of them!”

 

The court immediately started to whisper, and whisper turned to screams, and screams to laughter, and she heavily fell on her seat again. _Traitress to your king._ Traitress. Traitress. Traitress. Her field of vision darkened almost completely and the next thing she felt was the two hands of her guard on her arms, drawing her away from her seat. She heard nothing, she said nothing. Like a puppet without any string to be pulled, she let it happen. She let it all happen. She let him basically drag her wherever he wanted to drag her. She let him push her inside whatever room he wanted to push her inside. She let herself fall on the cold stone, on her knees.

 _Traitress._ Traitress. She was a traitress, she had always been. But it was not the same this time. Traitress she was, to _her king._ She did not immediately realize she was crying, but she was. She was crying so much it burned her eyes. She was a traitress, a betrayer. She had been betrayed. _Someone betrayed me._ Not just someone. _He betrayed me._ And it felt like the entire world had stopped turning. Like her entire world was crumbling under her feet. Like all she could do was stare, blankly, as it all turned to sizzling ashes. _He betrayed me._

And she remained like this, on the now lukewarm floor, for hours. Hours, days, maybe, she had no idea. Her mind was empty. She felt emptier than ever before. She opened her eyes again when she felt like she had no tears left to cry. She was in Tywin’s room. She was on the floor, in front of his desk. Unguarded. Unwatched. Alone. At first it made no sense at all that he would leave her alone in his room when he never accepted to even let her roam unwatched in the castle.

But then it made only too much sense. _He knows,_ she thought. _He knows there is nothing I can do anymore._ And even if there were, she had no strength left to try them. Why would she try anything? For what? For whom? _Everything I had left betrayed me._ She had nothing left to fight for, except herself. And she was nothing anymore. She had lost. Everything. She slowly dragged herself to the screen that separated the bedroom from the Hand’s office and sat against it, her back on the screen. She was ruining her beautiful red dress, but she could not care. Red dresses would be everything she would wear her entire life, however long or short it would be.

The door opened again, at some point. She did not raise her head. She heard the voice and knew immediately who it was. _Him._ He walked past her, straight to his desk. He sat. She heard the sound of the quill on the parchment, the sound it made when he folded it. She smelled the wax he used to seal it. And somehow, for a reason she could not name, it gradually, slowly, soothed her. Cleared her mind. But it made nothing less painful. _He betrayed me,_ was everything she could think about. He betrayed her. For a reason she could not fathom. And now she was left alone in the Tower of the Hand, at the mercy of the person who probably made sure all of that would happen. _Maybe he found a way to reach him. Used someone. Told him what I did for him._ It would feel better this way, in a twisted way. It would mean it had been orchestrated. It would mean Stannis did not betray her on his own volition. _He would not have._ She wanted to believe he could not have done something like that. _But he did send people to blow up the city._ He probably had a plan in mind. He must have had one.

 

“Are you planning on remaining on the floor all night?” he eventually asked her. She had not even realized the day was over. “Sit.”

 

She slowly rose on her feet and walked to the armchair in front of his desk. She sat. Tywin did not stop writing, as if expecting her to speak first. _I have nothing to say._ There was nothing to say about the situation. It was crystal clear. He made sure it would be. She had made the mistake to anger the Great Lion of the Rock and she now paid for it. Whatever he wanted to do with her, there was no way she could stop it. She had dug her own tomb.

It took him a while before he understood there was no point in waiting for her to speak. He stopped writing, keeping his quill in mid-air, and raised his eyes on her. There was nothing to read in his eyes. He did not look angry, nor did he look triumphant. _I would look triumphant, if I were him._ But she was not. And she would never be.

 

“If you wonder, the man was executed after giving the names of those involved,” he said. “Members of the City Watch, all of them. They were executed as well.

\- How surprising.

\- Stannis Baratheon’s plan failed dramatically.

\- You made sure it did.”

She had no intention to speak with him. Everything she did, everything she said in this room had one point and one point only: aid Stannis Baratheon. Finding ways to ensure he would win in the long run. But he betrayed her and his ludicrous plan had failed. _Regardless of what he aimed to achieve._ She still ignored most of it, and still could not believe it could be as simple as igniting jars of wildfire and watch the capital burn. Back when she could still correspond with him, she told him repeatedly that King’s Landing _had_ to be the last step of his war, not the first. He did not listen to her once and the Battle of the Blackwater happened. He did not listen to her twice and this… This happened. _You do not listen to a traitress to her king, do you?_

 

“I cannot believe his plan was as simple as his man said it was,” he continued, echoing her thoughts. “And I am sure you cannot either.

\- Well, it seems I do not know Stannis Baratheon as well as I thought, so I can hardly imagine how my opinion can be relevant.

\- I still wish to hear it.”

 

She raised her head and darted her eyes right at him. In a corner of her mind, she felt anger returning. He was toying with her. He was enjoying her weakness, wallowing in his _victory_ against her. _Or maybe he is just trying to manipulate me._ Maybe he thought he could use her weakness to turn her. She chuckled, lowly, sombrely, darkly. He frowned as she shook her head, fighting back the tears that threatened to return. She wanted him dead, more than ever. She wanted them _all_ dead. She wanted to see them screaming, begging for their lives, as she got to choose who lived and who died. _He betrayed her._ Of all people, Stannis Baratheon betrayed her. And it was because of Tywin Lannister.

 

“Are you entertained? Do you need me to cry and scream, or is my defeat already obvious enough for you? Do you want me to congratulate you on your masterstroke?

- And what masterstroke are you talking about?

 _\- Please_ , spare me this. I know not how you managed to reach him, but you did. And it worked.” She jumped on her feet and walked away from the desk. “I will not entertain you any further. And you better send me to Casterly Rock now before I find a way to pay this back.

\- Lady Shara.”

 

He shook his head, a lopsided grin on his lips. She turned to face him again. He had risen from his seat again, both his hands on the desk. Looking more powerful than ever, but apparently genuinely surprised and amused by the situation. _Oh but I will find a way to repay you for what you did to me._ He destroyed her entire world. So would she. She would find a way to destroy his world, or she would die trying. She had _nothing_ left to lose.

 

“You really believe I did it.

\- Who else could have done it? Who else would have _any_ interest in doing it?

\- It never occurred to you that Stannis Baratheon's stiff mind might simply have missed the subtlety of your actions here? Of all the choices you made under this roof?” He walked around his desk to get closer to her. “That words of your involvement in the Red Wedding might have reached him quicker than your explanation?

\- I never sent any explanation. I never could.” She shook her head. “Stannis would have never forsaken me for no reason.

\- I see plenty of reasons for a man like him to forsake a woman like you. Maybe someone told him about all of them, indeed, but I am not this person.”

 

 _I will not believe that. I cannot believe that._ Only someone intending to persuade him of her felony would have been able to turn him against her. Hearing about the… The decisions she made here could not be enough. Not after everything she did. Not after _everything_ she went through. She shook her head again. Tywin’s face showed no sign of joy, no sign of mockery. Nothing. Plain neutral. _He is lying. He is lying._

 

“You are lying,” she quavered too weakly. “You did it.

\- Believe what you will, but I am not. If it were this easy to reach Stannis Baratheon and whisper to his ear, I would have done it earlier and you would not have been my priority.

 _\- You did it._ He put his trust in me, as he put his trust in my father until he died.

\- Perhaps he did.” His face betrayed no emotion at all. _He must be lying. He has to be lying._ “And perhaps he considered that in light of your actions, you betrayed him.”

 

 _NO!_ He betrayed her. She did _not_ betray him. She never betrayed him. She would have never betrayed him. She would have suffered every each of the Seven Hells if it meant aiding him. She would have remained in King’s Landing, despised of all, hated by the entire world, if it had helped him win the throne. She did _everything_ she could to be worthy of his trust, she did even more than her father would have done for him. She did more than Ned Stark did, more than Robb Stark, more than Davos Seaworth himself. She was more loyal than his own brother, more dedicated than his entire army. She risked _her life_ for him. She would have _died_ for him, if not for Tywin’s offer. She did not betray him.

 

“I never betrayed him,” she said, keeping her broken mind for her and slowly stepping back, away from Tywin. “I would have helped his men, given the chance. I would have opened the Red Keep’s gates, opened the king’s door, given them swords, knives and pikes if he had asked me. _I never betrayed him._

\- But he betrayed you.” He made a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. He grabbed her chin to stare right at her teary eyes. “And I have nothing to do with this.

\- You are lying,” Shara repeated, but she did not believe it anymore. Tywin Lannister was not lying. “You must be. You have to be.”

 

He said nothing. He kept her chin in his hand for a while and released to return to his desk. She remained still in the middle of the room. She did not even manage to cry. She dragged herself to the bed and collapsed on it, not even calling the maid to undress her and take away her corset. She let the boning press her chest and stomach, she embraced the pain for as long as it lasted. _He ought to be lying,_ she thought again and again. _But he is not._ Tywin Lannister had nothing to do with this. Stannis Baratheon had betrayed her on his own.

And it did not matter if anyone told him about her decisions. And it did not matter if someone else told him to take the decision. _He betrayed her._ It was _his_ decision. He had let go of her, he had thrown to the flames everything she had done for him. He had made a choice. 

 _And he chose wrong._ The emptiness in her chest slowly started to fill with bitterness, with pain, with anger, with hatred. Of all people, he betrayed her. He decided to betray her. _He will pay for that. He will pay. I will make him pay._ He chose wrong. He listened to the wrong people. He made the wrong decisions.

_He will pay for that._


	3. The path they've chosen...

Given the circumstances, the wedding was postponed. They expected to actually organize it a few weeks later. Not that she cared. The wedding had never been much of a concern to her, but now they could very well organize it in a brothel for all she cared. Tywin did not try to talk to her again after the last executions. She spent her entire days in her room, on her balcony or inside, but there was no guard anymore to watch her. He remained outside her door. She could have thrown herself from the window that no one would have stopped her. _Why would they?_ There was not much to save anyway.

She did not throw herself out of the window. She had lost everything in a matter of seconds, but there was one thing she gained: a reason to live. _Vengeance._ For what Stannis Baratheon did to her. _Make his pay the blood price,_ for the blood she spilled for him. There was hardly anything left for her to do, except finding a way to have Stannis Baratheon pay to a hundredfold what he did to her, what he had her do for _nothing._ And once he would be out of the way, she would find who told him everything. Who made sure he would betray her – who betrayed her in the first place. And this person would pay as well. 

She now was absolutely certain Tywin Lannister had nothing to do with that. He would not have wasted an opportunity to manipulate Stannis Baratheon to _simply_ betray her. Things had grown personal between them, but not as to lose his one chance of winning the war easily. He was no stupid man, and he was not making stupid decisions. Plus, except for the whispers on her way the little time she spent outside, she did not hear anything about a Lannister plot to throw opprobrium at her with Stannis. The only thing the court talked about when she appeared was her sudden disgrace. _Traitress to her king._ Lannister whore. _Traitress._ Not that she cared – none of what they could say could be worse than what she already heard. Given the chance she would have seized the wildfire Stannis’ agents were meant to ignite and make the entire Keep explode, with all of them inside – Tyrells, Lannisters, Martells, every each one of them.

 _My war is not over yet._ Her enemy had just changed. _Or maybe I only have enemies now._ It did not matter. She was not hoping for friends anymore. The only man she trusted had thrown her to the flames, she would not make that mistake ever again. She wanted order, she wanted peace under a righteous king’s lead; if she could not have any of them, then chaos would do. She had all the time in the world to destroy everything, one by one. Stannis. Her betrayer. Then all those who wronged her in any way. It was the only thought that brought a smile to her lips – she had time.

She remained sealed in her room for five entire days, lost in the whirlwind of emotions she was stuck in. At night she did not sleep – during the days, she did nothing except mourn every hopes she had to live to see the end of her misery. Very dark thoughts gradually filled her mind, thoughts of death, of blood spilled and vengeance taken. Not once did anyone dare to speak to her the little time she spent outside and not once did anyone dare to knock at her door. She was left alone – completely alone, with her venomous thoughts and the sly voices in her head who demanded their bloodlust to be satisfied. She had moments of rationality and in those moments she realized the darkness of the places her pain and hatred led her into and understood that there was nothing desirable to find there. But why would it matter how dark her mind was growing? Her entire life would be dark, from now on. It was only fitting.

Still, she heard knockings at her door on the sixth morning. She did not even turn to look at whoever dared to intrude, lost in the same thoughts. She remained seated near the arcades that led to the balcony, looking at the cloud gathering outside. _There will be storm,_ she mused. _At last. A storm to match my rage._

 

“My Lady,” she heard by the door. She turned her head slowly. “You Lord husband, his highness the Hand of the…

\- I know who my Lord husband is. What does he want?

\- He wishes you to honour him with your presence,” the squire said, abruptly. “He wishes to see you now.

\- Who am I to deny my husband the… _Honour_ of my presence then? Ring my maid. I need my hair done.

\- He wishes to see you… Now.”

 

She frowned. _Now?_ Nothing could be so urgent as to request her presence _right now_ , with no time to even try to look presentable. She rose from her chair and glanced at herself in the nearest mirror. She looked… She looked like a mourning woman. _To think I did not even mourn my father,_ she thought, bitter. _And here I am, mourning… Mourning everything._ She could not make it any better. Her hair was loose on her shoulders, in lazy curls she had not taken the time to arrange, her eyes were slightly sunken and she had dark circles all around them. She was wearing the simplest dress she had found, a plain crimson one, with no embroideries, no embellishment to pretend she cared about her appearance. If Tywin Lannister wanted to witness the full extent of her decline, he would. And she would hide none of it.

She gestured the squire to lead the way as she followed him outside her room, on the landing. He knocked on the other room’s door and opened it. He bowed as he told her to enter. Once inside, the door closed behind her and she found herself alone with Tywin Lannister – again. She slowly stepped further inside the room, to his desk where he was reading parchments, his quill in his hand. She stopped a few steps away from him.

 

“My Lord,” she said, her voice emotionless. “You had me sought.

\- Sit.”

 

She did. He put his quill down and raised his eyes from his papers. He eyed her from hair to toe for a while, but made no comment. _There is no need of any._ She threw her hair back and waited for him to say what he wanted from her. It took a while, really, before his face even moved. He nodded to himself, as if he had found exactly what he was searching for, and cleared his throat.

 

“The court is whispering a lot about you, Lady Shara.

\- They are. Entertain me, what is their latest gibe? I do not think they did any worse than Lannister whore.

\- I do not listen to them.” He slightly frowned, severe. “And I was not talking about this kind of whisper. There has been a rumour that I sent you back to your cell. I had to make the small Council expressly deny it.

\- So the court just realized that I never was anything but a glorified prisoner? It took them some time,” she smirked. “Does it bother you that they would believe that? After all, I think my reaction to Stannis Baratheon’s betrayal spoke a lot about my true allegiance.”

 

She had no idea the court thought she might have been sent back to a cell. Somehow it made more sense than her actual situation: in her rage, she told Tywin that she would have done everything she would have been asked to do, if he had not betrayed her. It was the clearest way to admit her loyalty never changed. _But he never pretended to believe it did anyway._ Maybe the court did believe her, for dint of repeating it over and over again. They were more stupid than meets the eye, and it meant _much more_ than she already believed them to be.

 

“That fact that his ludicrous plan failed should be enough for everyone to understand you did not help him,” he retorted. “The sheer existence of this plan, really.

\- Come now, my Lord, flattery is not going to lead you anywhere. Just because Stannis Baratheon betrayed me does not mean you can just buy my loyalty.

\- I am not trying to. Loyalty is quite the overrated value these days.

\- Outdated, if you ask me,” she hissed. “So what is it you want? Me, to parade again in the gardens because you do not like people to think you have locked your wife in a dark cell?

\- That is one thing, yes.”

 

 _One thing._ Not the most important one. She rested her elbows on the armrest and tilted her head. She had no intention to parade in the gardens any time soon, but if what he really wanted was more than that she was intrigued. She could hardly imagine what he could wish from her, except continuing the play her role as non-so-prisoner of the crown. He stared at her for a few more instants and took a few parchments from the pile on the corner of his desk. He read through them, and placed them in front of her, all three of them. She looked at them, looked at him, at them again.

 

“Do you have troubles reading, my Lord?

\- Your desperate attempts to jest hide nothing of your distress, Lady Shara,” he simply said, coldly. “And I can recognize a wounded animal when I see one.

\- So you also know that it is at their weakest that they are the most dangerous.

\- Now that there is no way for you to plan on Stannis Baratheon’s victory to salvage you, how do you see the future?

\- What I see matters very little,” she carefully replied, sensing the heaviness of his words. “Compared to what you have planned.”

 

He smirked. She did not make a move toward the letters just yet. Whatever they contained, they could not be so important as to not pay attention to the price she was going to pay to be able to read them. _If the Vale had been attacked, I would know. They would be talking about it, more than they are talking about me._ That would be the ultimate disgrace for the so-called Lady of the Vale to be stripped of her pride _and_ her lands.

He rose from his seat and faced her, from the full height of his majesty. She was not impressed. He had been more impressive than that before. This was just a way to have her wait. _He likes that only too much,_ she mused. And she could not care less.

 

“I see two alternatives,” he eventually said when he understood he was not going to provoke any reaction from her. “One of them is simple. Everything remains the same. You remain a prisoner under a careful watch. When the war is over, you shall be sent to Casterly Rock with the rest of the non-necessary member of house Lannister.

\- What a brilliant prospect indeed. What is the other?

\- I believe we can reach a more mutually beneficial agreement.” His eyes started to gleam. “Based on our common enemy.

\- An enemy does not look like a very healthy basis for an agreement. Especially if it involves the two of us.

\- May I ask why?”

 

She smirked and chuckled, sombrely. If this were the game he wanted to play, she would play by his rules. _Flattery is what he began with,_ she thought. _Let us see where it can lead us._ So, now he wanted to get her on his side? The Lannisters had not magically turned into allies as Stannis Baratheon decided to make a show of the full extent of his thickness of mind. She had not forgotten the humiliation they put her through and for all she knew, they were probably responsible for her father’s death. They still were the same house her father had vowed to oust from the throne and died trying. She had made the same vow over and over again, to Stannis himself, to herself and somehow to Tywin without ever saying the words.

 _Then again, what are vows worth now?_ Her father was gone. The man who should have benefited from the Lannisters’ obliteration had forsaken her. The Lannisters themselves, as hard as it was to accept, never betrayed her. It was clear from the beginning that any chance to destroy one another would be taken and used – enemies do not betray each other. They just act when the opportunity comes. 

 _No,_ her mind suddenly retorted. No she could not even imagine the possibility to turn. Or could she? All those who could have judged her were gone in a way or another. All of them destroyed by their vow to destroy house Lannister, and their ridiculous care for honour and promises. Ned Stark, dead because he put his faith in a piece of parchment, expecting the same overarching king of honour from the entire world. Robb Stark, dead because he expected honourable amends to make up for Walder Frey’s inflated ego’s wound. Jon Arryn, dead because he could not even fathom the idea of being targeted from the full height of his honour.

 _Stannis Baratheon,_ dead because he refused to look past the obvious, because his righteousness prevented him from spotting the smoke and the mirrors she placed around him. All of them tried to break down the Lannisters’ hold on power through honourable ways – justice, war, books, forgetting that there is nothing honour can do against the ruthless.

None of them listened to her when she warned them. All of them disregarded her dishonourable advices. _And now only I am left._ Facing their common sworn enemy, the only man to ever heed her words. The little honour she clung unto, her undying loyalty to the _only rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms_ , brought her nothing but a pain she never felt before and humiliations worst than anything the treacherous, ruthless Lannisters ever put her through.

Playing that those righteous men’s rules never benefited her in any way. It only gradually pushed her lower and lower, deeper and deeper until she could barely imagine getting out of it anymore. _Time to change the rules._ Time to break theirs.

 

“What chance does Stannis Baratheon stand against the two of us?” she smiled, staring right at Tywin Lannister’s gleaming eyes. “If we are to actually work together, I predict none.

\- Flattery does not work any better on me than it does on you.” He narrowed his eyes. “But I believe you are right.

\- One thing we agree on, then.” She sat on the edge of her seat to take one of the letters. “I imagine this has something to do with him?

\- Indeed.”

 

She nodded, looking at the parchment. She could change the rules, it was so easy. All it took was a nod. A yes. _But the rules will be mine to set this time._ She put the letter back on the table and slowly rose from her seat as well, to face Tywin Lannister on her feet. He frowned, but made no comment.

 

“If we do that, Stannis Baratheon will not remain on the board for long,” she continued. “Which means the war will also be over soon.

\- You certainly keep yourself in high esteem, my Lady, to think your help alone can change the outcome of a year-long war.

\- Then I take it you agree with me on this as well.” She chuckled. “Given that you had me fetched to negotiate the terms of my status just to get my help.

\- Do no overstep, Lady Shara. Nothing is done yet.”

 

 _It is a matter of time, my Lord._ She nodded, though. For the first time in days, in weeks, it seemed that her sky could uncloud. That she could at last find a way out of her gilded cage. This time she waited for him to talk first, which he only did after pausing for a while. His eyes never left her, inspecting every inch of her face, of her entire body. He nodded to himself, and continued.

 

“If we do win this war, I am eager to reconsider some of the terms of our current arrangement.

\- Does it include the main term?” she asked, trying to sound more detached than she felt. “My prisonership?

\- It may. With reasonable limits obviously.

\- Such as?

\- Not travelling around the realm unwatched and unguarded. Not leaving the capital to the Vale indefinitely. Not doing anything that could endanger the throne, would it be through act, words or missives.”

 

His voice was as emotionless as it was when he exposed her the terms of their marriage, a few months earlier. But she was taken aback. All of these limits meant more than the obvious. She could travel. She could return to the Vale. She could speak, she could write. She did not expect that much from him – at all. He seemed to notice her surprise and smirked, mockery in his eyes. She scoffed.

 

“What is the price I have to pay for that?” she asked, cautious and wary. “Other than help you win this war?

\- Nothing you have not already done. Obviously it depends on how much you really assist in Stannis Baratheon’s downfall.

\- We both know this will not be a problem.” She thoughtfully walked to the nearest window. Dark clouds now covered the sky. She remained silent as she let it all sink it – and suddenly understood. “You want us to remain married. That is the price.

\- A price you already paid.”

 

She kept her eyes outside for a while. _A price I could be repaid._ The freedom he offered was conditional, he simply gifted her a longer leash to roam around. It meant accepting, once and for all, to be a Lannister too. Forever. _A price I already paid._ Even if he did annul the marriage, no one in Westeros would ever forget that she did marry him, that she did help him – no one would forget that she had been a Lannister. Her dreams of being Shara Arryn again were gone now, and nothing, no one could make it true anymore. Her heart tightened at the thought. There were many a things she could accept to lose and tarnish. But house Arryn was her legacy and the more she kept the Lannister name, the less of an Arryn she was. _Could it be that I will be the one to end it all?_ Shara Lannister, she who destroyed house Arryn of the Vale. She closed her eyes, and eventually turned to face him again.

 

“What if I refused, and asked you to end it in payment for my help?

\- This can be done.” He crossed his arms on his chest. “But then you would be sent to the Vale, and you would never leave it again.

\- I almost thought you had gone mad,” she scoffed dryly. “But of course there was a catch. Either I remain married to you and you graciously allow me some measure of freedom or you lock me in again, this time in my own lands for the rest of my days? That sounds more like you.

\- I am sure you can see where your interests lie. I do not think you can hope for a better union in the Vale.”

 

She rolled her eyes. Of course she could not, and even if she were allowed to consider outside alliance, there was hardly a better match than the Hand of the king himself. _Except that it would render the Vale to the Lannisters._ The Arryn in her could not stand the thought. It was hard enough to imagine herself as her own house’s murderer, but she could not be her own lands’ procurer. The Vale belonged to house Arryn alone and could not simply fall unto foreign hands, especially the Lannisters’. What she accepted for herself she would not accept for her lands. Somehow it _had_ to befall an Arryn at her death and not…

 _Oh._ It could very easily befall an Arryn. All it took was an heir. _And marriage involves heirs, when it is real._ Tywin Lannister did not want to keep her as a wife simply for the sake of it, he wanted what she could give him. Rightful heirs, to make sure his dwarf of a son would not inherit Casterly Rock. Heirs to seize control over her Vale. She nodded to herself. Of course. The marriage could not remain unconsummated if it were to last.

 

“You have set your conditions. May I set mine?

\- You think you are in position to impose your terms?

\- Who said I would impose them?” She smiled. “Are we not trying to reach a mutually beneficial agreement? For now you benefit the most of it. You get to keep a young and beautiful wife, hopefully to get some new heirs to make up for your current faulty sons, to add the Vale to the list of the kingdoms you control _and_ to keep the crown within your family. I only regain a barely fair amount of freedom.

\- For a barely reformed traitress, I consider this more than generous enough.

\- Well, one treason does erase the other, does it not?

\- Name your terms, my Lady. Do not waste my time with your witticisms.”

 

He was frowning, as if expecting ridiculous demands. _None of them are,_ she mused. Her father would have imposed it to any marriage she might have been offered when he was still alive. Gambling with her life was one thing, but risking to endanger her house’s centuries-old legacy a whole other. That was something he, of all people, had to understand.

 

“The Vale remains under my control and mine only. Any order addressed to my people is my order, not yours. Should I die without heir, it shall befall my step-brother when he is of age. Not you, nor any member of house Lannister

\- Lest you forget my Lady, you are not your father’s heiress,” he noted, frowning even further. “The Vale is not yours to negotiate.

\- Surely you do not want your future heirs to be left without lands.” She tilted her head. “Especially their mother’s.

\- Provided that you indeed give me heirs. Would they considered as Lannisters in your mind?

\- Any child born of me is an Arryn by blood. Do what you will with the eldest, give him Casterly Rock if disowning your sons pleases you.” She paused, smiling and keeping her eyes in his. “But the Vale will only befall a child of mine. Not you.”

 

Silence ensued. The gleam in Tywin’s eyes shone furiously for a second and she read a lot in them. Satisfaction, mostly. Victory. Pride. And something else, something new. Something that resembled respect or esteem. It shocked her, to see in his eyes what she barely ever saw in her father’s. She embraced it, though, because this is what Stannis Baratheon owed her. Respect. _Not humiliation. Not betrayal._

Stannis Baratheon mattered no more, because the rules were changing. The game was reaching higher stakes, and she intended to be the deadliest piece of the board alongside the strongest pieces. She thought he was one of them, but he was nothing but a pawn amongst others. Tywin Lannister was one. She could stand at his side. She could. _I will._

He smirked again and slowly nodded. _I won._ He walked to her and extended a hand, to shake probably. She did not move at first, staring at the man who had just become an ally after so many years spent as a foe. _Nothing is done yet,_ she reminded herself. _This man is a snake dressed as a lion._ He could still bite. But she could bite as well, she had the means to do it. _And maybe we can be the deadliest pieces of the board when the game is over, and be all that remains._ She took his hand, then. Cold, stony, like hers.

 

“It want it written down,” she said. “Signed. Official.

\- It shall be done.

\- And this is informal,” she continued, keeping her eyes in his, her hand in his. “But I want Stannis Baratheon’s head, as well as the man who betrayed me’s.

\- The war is not over yet, and you make demands already.” He scoffed, amused. He released her hand and placed a finger under her already high chin, as to make sure she would not look down. _I am not._ “Let us win it before speaking of retribution.

\- Then let us begin.”

_Let me begin._


	4. ... Has carved their fates in stone

The three letters mostly had the same content, all of them. They had been sent by two different houses, two from house Staunton of Rook’s Rest and one from house Celtigar of Claw Isle. _Two turncoats,_ she thought. Both of them answered Stannis Baratheon’s call when he crowned himself king. She had annotated her lost atlas with their fealty, but they both turned after the Battle of the Blackwater to save their heads. Stannis Baratheon’s fleet had been spotted sailing north from Rook’s Rest, the Whispers and off the coast of Claw Isle. The winds were unfavourable to the fleet, but still it was sailing north. The last of the letters had been sent a day ago and probably arrived just before Tywin summoned her.

 _North?_ She frowned as she re-read the letters, hoping to find some secret meaning to them. Why send agents to the capital with the intention to burn the entire city down, if it meant sailing north immediately after? _He may have changed his plan when he understood the initial one had failed._ Still, it made no sense to risk so much to try to destroy King’s Landing to head north immediately after. Especially as he would find no allies in Winterfell.

 

“It hardly makes any sense,” she said, shaking her head and putting the letters back on the desk. “Even for him.

\- The North was always one of his main objectives. It is hardly surprising that he would head north after his plan regarding the capital failed.

\- No, it was never his main objective,” Shara corrected. “After the bitter failure of his negotiations with Catelyn Stark and the obliteration of any hope we had of securing an alliance with Robb Stark, he lost most of his interest in the North. The iron throne became the only thing he cared about.

\- Then whose target was it?

\- For a while he accepted to temper his impatience.” Tywin Lannister frowned. She tilted her head and scoffed. “Why did you think I made sure most of Robb Stark’s armies would survive the Freys?”

 

There was no point in hiding what she was trying to achieve before. His face relaxed a bit and she noticed the slight smirk on his lips before it disappeared. _Whatever he pretends,_ she thought. _That must surprise him as well._ Otherwise he would not have summoned her and accepted so many compromises simply to have her read these letters. _Or maybe what he wants to understand is why he changed his mind._

Attacking the capital made sense, for a man who had been countless times _to not_ attack it by the woman he now considered a traitress. She had insisted hundreds of times that there was no way he could win against the fully defended, fully armed capital without a far more numerous army than the one he already has – which was the entire point of the aborted alliance with Robb Stark. But he was going to the North, and it was something she did tell him to do just as many times. A man like him would not recognize the worth of _one_ advice, and disregard another.

 

“Which explains why you were so eager to let the Stark boy die,” the Hand commented, thoughtfully running a hand on his beard. “His armies were all you cared about.

\- I could hardly do anything against your plan. The only thing I could do was… Make the most of it.” She shrugged. _I do not want to dwell on that._ “You say it is not surprising that he is heading north. Why am I here, if everything goes according to your expectations?

\- I said it is not surprising that he would head to the North after his plan’s demise, not that I expected him to.

\- Oh, so he did surprise you then?” She waived away his _enough_ with a sway of her hand. “I know, enough sarcasm. I must say that I am surprised as well. My questions stands, though, why did you had me summoned and not the small Council?

\- You know Stannis Baratheon better than any of the Council’s members. Most of them already know about the first two letters and hardly see the problem with them.” He gritted his teeth, visibly annoyed. “You do. That is enough of a reason.

\- For now, at least. Do you have a map of the Crownlands?”

 

She threw her hair behind her shoulders again, bothered by the loose strands of hair that fell on her face, while he grabbed a rolled map on his shelves. He retrieved the three letters and put them in his chest with the rest of his correspondence. He carefully unrolled it on the desk while she rose from her seat again to observe every harbour on the eastern coast of Westeros. He seemed to be doing the same.

 _King’s Landing… Duskendale…_ She froze as her eyes reached Rook’s Rest’s harbour. This is where Stannis’ ships were spotted first. Ships heading north never remained close enough to the main coast to be spotted from the harbours, especially Rook’s Rest’s. _Dragonstone should have hidden the ships as they sailed away from the coast to avoid Clackclaw Point and the Fingers,_ she mused, remembering the few lessons of sailing her father gave her. The waters were not that high close to the coast and it made sailing complicated, especially for war ships. No sailors remained between the mainland and Dragonstone, expect when heading directly to either Claw Isle, Clacklaw Point itself or the Bay of Crabs to stop in one of the Vale’s many southern harbours. _Gods,_ she realized. _He is not going to the North._

 

“When you interrogated his agent,” she slowly said, staring at the map. “Did he tell you what _exactly_ his mission was?

\- They were found by the Guild, trying to enter their galleries and reach the wildfire.

\- I know that, I was there when you exposed him.” She raised her eyes and faced him. “But what were them supposed to do once inside the galleries?

\- We never managed to get the information out of him. What does this have to do with Stannis Baratheon’s ships?

\- He is not going north,” she snapped back. She indicated Rook’s Rest. “Have you ever sailed north from King’s Landing?

\- Not personally, no.

\- Ships that head to White Harbour do not remain between the mainland and Dragonstone. You cannot spot them from the mainland’s before they reach Gulltown.”

 

He frowned even further and looked down at the map. _He has already sailed past the Claw Isle and the Whispers,_ she thought, her mind entirely focused on what in seven hells could have gone through Stannis Baratheon’s head. _Which means he is going to either stop at Dyre Den… Or Maidenpool._ Both cities were almost empty of life since the war begun, he would encounter no resistance there if he decided to moor there to march south, straight to King’s Landing. He was not only disregarding _one_ of her advices, he was disregarding _both_ of them.

 

“His men were not supposed to ignite the wildfire,” she heard Tywin thinking aloud. “They were supposed to sabotage it, however they could, to prevent another Battle of the Blackwater from happening.

\- It did not sound like him to just blow up an entire city.

\- He cannot be thinking there is any way for him to besiege King’s Landing.” He shook his head and walked away from the desk, pacing the room. “Stannis Baratheon is many things, but delusional he is not.

\- He is not, but think about it,” she said, watching him. “He is surrounded by lords who demand vengeance for the Blackwater, surrounded by religious zealots who are convinced he is a god reborn. He may not be delusional, but they are.

\- It does take a certain amount of folly to imagine a man like to be a god reborn.” He stopped in his pacing to eye her. “Did you believe he was?

\- Am I delusional, in your opinion?”

 

She frowned as well, this time. That was something she meant to change as well, the Red Woman’s hold on him and the many zealots around him. She was not especially religious herself, but the king of the Seven Kingdoms could not be some foreign god reborn. The people would not understand, and what they did not understand they eventually feared; as for the nobility, it already despised him, they did not need another reason to mock him. _But none of that matters anymore,_ she reminded herself. _His god is the least of my concern now._

Tywin did not answer her, he simply returned to the map without a word. His question was purely rhetorical and hardly needed an answer anyway. He remained silent as he probably tried to guess in which harbour Stannis would choose to disembark his men.

 _Maidenpool’s_. She would choose Maidenpool. Both the Stark and Lannister armies had slaughtered the entire city, and now bodies, crows and a few bandits littered its ruins. _And the road to King’s Landing begins there._ She looked at Duskendale again. The city was more defended, given that it was used as King’s Landing’s harbour as long the Blackwater remained impracticable, but not nearly enough to resist a full-fledged attack on its walls. _His strategy is not entirely stupid,_ she bitterly thought. _Or rather, it would not have been if he had been subtle enough to keep his ships away from the coasts._

 

“The armies cannot reach King’s Landing’s walls,” Tywin continued as he turned around the desk to join her side. “If he was just spotted from Claw Isle, then it means he does not have more than two days of sailing before he reaches one of the southern harbours of the Bay of Crabs.

\- It may not be enough to save Maidenpool or Dyre Den, but it may be to save Duskendale if your armies leave King’s Landing quickly enough.” She counted the miles silently. _More than a hundred. An army would take almost a week to reach it._ Without horses, Stannis’ army would probably take the same amount of time to reach Duskendale from the north as well. “Stannis’ army reached almost twenty thousands men before the Battle of the Blackwater, but I know not how many men joined or defected afterward.

\- We estimate his forces at eighteen thousands at most, but he could not have brought more than half of them on the few ships he can sail inside the Bay of Crabs.”

 

He opened one of his drawers to take a small chest filled with figures of the main houses of Westeros, counting nine stag heads. She watched him placed them in the Bay and count twelve lion heads. _Is there really twelve hundreds of Lannister men inside the city?_ She had not left the Red Keep ever since their wedding and she had not seen most of King’s Landing. She guessed they were stationed all around the city, under the walls. _After all he did save the city from Stannis Baratheon’s first attack._ There must have been approximately the same amount of Tyrell soldiers, if not more. She forced herself to remain neutral when she saw him placing as many roses as he could around King’s Landing. _That is… Twenty? Twenty-five thousands men?_ He then placed two golden figures of soldiers in Duskendale and put the chest on the corner of the table.

 

“How many men do the Tyrells have?” she asked, side-eying him. “They cannot have…

\- Approximately fifty thousand. Mace Tyrell has already sent twenty thousand of the initial seventy back to Highgarden.” She did not manage to hide her astonishment. He smirked. “Did you really think the crown would have given up the North for a few roses?

\- I was not expecting this many men. Lest you forget, I did not step outside the Red Keep for months and I did not see your armies arriving in the city during the battle.

\- We may not have needed that many men if you had not sabotaged my son’s plan to protect the city.

\- Well, I suppose I hardly made any change in the long run, did I?” She shrugged and eyed the chest, where she could see the Arryn figures. “You said it yourself, after all.”

 

He did not react, he seemed lost in his thoughts. Stannis was greatly outnumbered, even if Tywin decided to only send half of the men the capital had. Greatly outnumbered, but probably more prepared. Even if they did manage to get the armies on the road by the morrow, which she highly doubted, soldiers do not fare well in haste. Especially if the objective was to make sure he could not reach the capital where most of the Seven Kingdoms’ nobility resided for Joffrey’s ever-postponed wedding. _Disorganized armies are useless armies,_ she mused. _Unplanned battles are lost battles._ In this regard, Stannis Baratheon’s plan had succeeded.

But Tywin Lannister was not just any general taken aback. He had sacked King’s Landing in a matter of hours with only twelve thousand men. _Twelve thousand men who could have burned alive if king Aerys had used his wildfire,_ she remembered. Stannis Baratheon had not managed to destroy the entirety of the jars and the Battle of the Blackwater had not been enough to use even a third of the reserves. She grabbed the small chest and took two sailing ships out of it.

 

“I know King’s Landing’s harbour is mostly destroyed, but is it still possible to have sailing ships leave for Duskendale?” He nodded. “Stannis Baratheon did not manage to destroy the city’s reserves of wildfire. If you stop him in Duskendale, he still will not expect you to use it against him. But you can, if you have it sailed.

\- Wildfire cannot be transported that easily from harbour to harbour. It is unstable.

\- Old wildfire is unstable, not new,” she replied. “You do not need a lot of it anyway. However numerous your marching army will be, it will outnumber his.

\- You would have a god of fire reborn die by fire?” He shook his head, amused. He paused for a while and turned away to the map to face her. “Stannis Baratheon did make the worst of mistake when he turned away from you, did he not?”

 

 _Of course he did._ This was the proof, if it were ever needed. She smirked and nodded slowly. She never quite felt this powerful, even before the Battle of the Blackwater. She controlled nothing, she simply sent letters and prayed from them to be read and for her advices to be followed. Most of the time they were – not every time, but most of it. But she never found herself around a war map with Stannis, never directly discussed strategy, never exchanged ideas about the war. She was never certain _she_ was listened to, any of his advisors may have had the same ideas as hers and be heeded at her stead. She was not there, after all. She was in King’s Landing, in the snake’s nest trying to dodge their fangs and somehow find a way out. She never did – and Stannis made her pay for that.

But now she was there. She was at the right table, talking to the right man. She would regret her ruthlessness later, or maybe she would never regret anything. For now, her entire being yearned for vengeance, hungry for blood – and it demanded its hunger to be satisfied. And Tywin Lannister was the only man to oblige. Deep inside her, there was still a part of her mind that was repulsed by the mere idea of actively working to secure the Lannister’s grip on power… But after all, she had done it before, whatever the pretext. _And after all, I am a Lannister under the law of men and Gods alike._ After all, these were her rules.

 

“This is your question to answer,” she replied, handing him the ship figures. “Contrary to him, you know that I am a weapon. Now you know what happens when the weapon is disregarded.

\- You said that a weapon may change hands, but always remains soaked in his previous owner’s blood. Is that supposed to be a threat?

\- It does not have to be. I do not have to change hands again, if our agreement stands. And if you make the right decisions.

\- You are not the one to say what is right and what is wrong,” he retorted, taking the figures from her hand and placing them in King’s Landing’s harbour. “Perhaps Stannis Baratheon’s betrayal is not enough of a reason for you to be loyal to your rightful house, but it is not enough of a reason either for me to trust a woman who changed sides twice.”

 

 _Once, really, but I suppose it is fair._ She did not trust him either. All she trusted him for was destroying Stannis Baratheon’s army and end this war once and for all – for the rest of it, his trustworthiness remained to be tested. She looked at the tiny ships on the map and smiled. Trusted or not, he listened. There would be wildfire in Duskendale in less than three days, and in a week and a half, Stannis Barathemon’s army would be no more. _To think I could have done that from the beginning,_ she mused. _And won the war in a matter of months._ She had lost a lot more in struggling to keep to her father’s ridiculous standards of honour and loyalty than she had won. _Stripped of my pride all the same. Stripped of my titles, of my honour._ Of life, if Stannis had had his ways.

She was still looking at the map when she felt Tywin’s hand around her forearm. She turned her head and his other hand seized her face to keep it motionless. She did not push him back, but frowned. What she said was not supposed to be a threat, but the way he kept her still surely felt like one. _Careful now,_ she told herself as much as she wanted to tell him. She had not forgotten who the man was. She would never forget who he was.

 

“You may be a weapon, you may be sharp and you may be dangerous when slighted,” he continued, his voice low. “But you know as well what happens when house Lannister is threatened, do you not?

\- First-hand.

\- Then know this, Shara Arryn. I keep a very close watch on my enemies but a much closer one on my allies.” He walked a step closer, closing the distance between them. Their chest almost touched at this point, and she had to look up to be able to see his eyes. “ _Slight_ will be the last of your concern if you ever come to forget that.

\- I do not intend to.” She smiled and, with a shake of her head, brushed away his hand. “To thank you for this piece of advice, allow me to give you one as well, my Lord. If, for whatever reason, you ever come to the decision to get rid of me, do it quickly, otherwise you might not be given the time to.”

 

She did not lose her smile and she did not step away. This was a game, and though she had no idea who would ultimately win it, she was not going to give him any lead. If they were going to play together, they would play on an equal footing. _Deadliest pieces of the board._ Which, once the war over, would be the most capable of destroying each other. She would make sure he does not forget that either – because she would not. She saw a smirk appearing on his lips. Amused. Satisfied. Eager to play – eager to fight. _He will not forget that,_ she realized. And she found herself even more satisfied.

 

“Your advice has been heard,” his low voice replied. “Let us hope it does not come to that.

\- That would be a terrible waste, indeed.

\- In the meantime, I will need the Council to be…”

She almost had a start when she heard knockings on the door. She turned her head to the intruder and saw Varys froze in the doorway, before bowing deeply before them. Tywin Lannister immediately stepped away from her and walked to the master of Whisperers, looking both annoyed and slightly surprised to see him. She darted a glance outside – the morning had gone already. _As did the sun._ She could hear the wind whistling through the windows, heralding the upcoming storm.

 

“My Lord Hand,” Varys softly said, breaking at last the spell that loomed over the room. “My Lady. I am sorry to interrupt, but I believe we had a meeting scheduled?

\- We did.” The Hand turned to the desk. His face was back to his stony, emotionless self. “But there is a change of schedule.

\- Is there, my Lord?

\- I want the small Council summoned immediately,” he ordered starkly. “Here.

\- Very well, my Lord.”

 

Varys did not look surprised. _He hardly knows what surprise is anyway._ He may have known what was happening even before the first letter was sent, but he immediately returned to the stairs. She glanced at Tywin next to her. _I suppose this is my cue._ She was not expecting to be invited to attend the small Council – no woman ever sat at the Council, especially not a twice-traitress. Especially not her. She cleared her throat, shaking off what remained of the confusion their conversation left her in.

 

“I suppose this is where I take my leave,” she simply said. “May this sitting prove useful.

\- Let us hope it does, indeed.

\- Can I expect to know its result, or is it not part of our arrangement?

\- We shall see.”

 

She nodded. _I take that for a yes._ She quickly curtsied and walked to the door, straight to her room. _Not that I need him to actually tell me._ She still had her own ways and intended to keep to them. _Until the end._


	5. Swing the sword, watch them fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Glad to see you're still interested in our dear Shara's adventures!  
> Just a quick note, I will probably update on Monday next week instead of Sunday - I have two busy weeks ahead of me, and I'll probably not have the time to update before it is completely finished.   
> Enjoy your reading, and don't hesitate to leave comments, I always love to read them!

She did not dare to expect the Lannister and the Tyrell armies to actually get ready to leave in the morrow, but they somehow did. At least from what she understood through the hole in her wall, Tywin Lannister hardly left any choice to Mace Tyrell when he demanded he regrouped his men and send them straight to Duskendale with his own to defend the city. _And destroy Stannis Baratheon’s host,_ she completed for herself. She did hear about the wildfire plot until most of the members of the council had left his room and until only Mace Tyrell remained. _The master of ships,_ she mused, her head still against the wall, _fitting._ He did not even say anything about the wildfire part of it, he simply requested three sailing ships to be prepared to head directly to Duskendale’s harbour with a minimal crew. When the dull Lord of Highgarden asked why he would need these ships, his answer was sharp. _I need them._ He did not insist. She pictured him bending and contorting to apologize to _his Lord Hand, rest assured that is will be an honour to join you into battle, our house will obviously support the crown in any way you see fit…_ And the door closed.

She cautiously placed the mirror back on her wall and turned away from the wall to look outside. The wind was howling, outside, and she could feel the swift drafts inside her room. Soon there would be thunder as well. Rain. The sky was so dark that it almost felt as if it were night-time already. _Perhaps the thunder will be loud enough to cover the court’s wailings,_ she thought as she walked to her closed windows. _Perhaps it will be violent enough to sink Stannis’ fleet._ That would be easier. Less satisfying too, but easier. 

The Hand’s apartments’ door opened and closed once again and she understood that Tywin Lannister had left it as well. Only she remained in the tower of the Hand’s highest storey. She was probably the best placed to watch the storm unfold, though she did not see much of the city from inside her room. _I could go outside, it is not as if anyone would stop me,_ she mused. She remembered the Vale’s storms, from the highest room of the Maiden Tower. It was terrifying – it was fascinating. Her father never let her remain in these rooms for long, mostly because they were left unoccupied and because he did not want her to roam free in the castle, but she somehow always found her ways to the balcony that overlooked the entirety of the Vale, every each of the waycastles and Alyssa’s tears. She never quite feared she might fall, blown away by the strong wind that always whirled so high in the mountains and turned to raging storm every now and then.

She carefully opened the window and barely had the time to step away before they opened with a loud _bang_. She immediately felt the harsh wind on her face and heard a few of her books fall from her shelves. She smirked and stepped on her balcony, to the guardrail. Her loose hair was carried off by the wind as she looked underneath. The ships in the harbour were already pitching, their cordages clicking in the wind. The view was not quite as impressive as it was from the top of the Maiden Tower, but it was a view still.

She closed her eyes for a while, remembering her child-self on the huge balcony, feeble and weak against the rough wind. _I did not fall back then,_ she thought, her lips curving into a smile. _I will not fall now._ The Baratheon’s fury might be one to fear and the Stormlands might be Stannis’ lands, but the Arryns feared no storm in their terrible mountains and no man’s fury ever managed to reach them in their towers. Her father’s reason, caution and prudence made the entire world forget about whom the Arryns truly were. _Kings_ who fought against the Stark Kings of Winter and won, _queens_ who never wept, never mourned, _soldiers_ who destroyed fleets coming from Essos, _rebels_ who unmade and made kings. _Let them remember what it means to slight the blood of the mountains._

 

“My Lady?” she heard behind her, tearing her from her thoughts. “My Lady, what are you doing outside?”

 

She slowly turned to face the Spider. For the first time since she knew him, he looked genuinely dumbfounded. She gestured him to come with her on the balcony but he remained in the doorway to the outside, his robe already swirling with the gusts of the wind. He looked at her silently for a few instants, apparently trying to make sense of what he was looking at. _Worry not, Spider, I am not falling._

 

“Does your Lord husband know…

\- My Lord husband has better things to do than keeping me inside my room, has he not?” She was speaking loud enough for him to hear her despite the wind’s howling. “Preparing the end of this war is one of them. Should you not be whispering to your little birds about that?

\- My little birds know everything they ought to. You, on the other hand, seem to know a lot.

\- Well, it so happens that the Lord Hand saw fit to inform me of Stannis Baratheon latest moves.”

 

The corner of his lips quirked up as the realization struck. She did not move her back away from the barrier, her two hands resting on their stones. Rain was starting to fall, slowly dotting both the marbles and her dress. Varys stepped on the balcony but remained under the few inches of roof not to be drenched when the cloudburst would come. _I cannot care._ Drenched she would be. In water. _Could have been blood,_ a tiny voice whispered in her mind.

The more she remained outside, at the mercy of the wind, of the rain and of thunders, the more it all grew intoxicating. She was not even sure what was intoxicating, if it were the wind or if it were the hours she spent in Tywin Lannister’s room. If it were the hours she spent in Tywin Lannister’s room or if it were the rules she had changed at last. If it were all of that, or none at all. _Perhaps it is all the things I have forsaken, all the ghosts I have stopped to listen to that make me feel so light._ And so powerful.

 

“I was not expecting to see you so joyful after what Stannis Baratheon did to you,” Varys quietly noted. “The court was already predicting your demise.

\- Twice has the court devised my downfall, and twice was it mistaken.

\- You defy the odds, Lady Shara, almost as if your dices were loaded.

\- They may be, or maybe I just never played according to the rules.” She scoffed. “Who is to tell?

\- No one, as it seems.”

 

The sky suddenly flashed with a lightning and its loud bang echoed around the city. She closed her eyes again and let rain drench her hair, her dress, her face. _A storm to match my rage. Let Stannis Baratheon hear it._ The Bay of Crabs was not far enough for him not to see the storm coming. Him or his men. The Gods only knew what he would find in Duskendale – she was confident neither Tywin Lannister nor Mace Tyrell would let him expect anything. Fire would rain on his men and blood would flow all the way to the Blackwater Bay, to be seen from Driftmark and Dragonstone itself. The most tired and hurt part of her exulted at the mere picture of it, and she could only hear these parts. The rest seemed to be lost in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, intoxication, pain, anger, despair, fury and bloodlust. Regrets to come. _Let them._ Regrets were nothing compared to what she had been through.

 

“What spell did you put Tywin Lannister under to get his trust?

\- Who spoke of trust?” She opened her eyes again and looked straight at Varys. “There is no trust involved. There is hardly anyone in the Red Keep who knows Stannis Baratheon better than I do and he is the only man who can grant me more freedom than I have been allowed until now. One could call that politics.

\- Who thought it could be so easy to change your allegiance? As easy as a betrayal, bitter as it is.” Varys narrowed his eyes, but he did not depart of his smile. “How nice it is that you decided to settle for the winning party of this war.

\- There is no honour in losing a war purely for matters of vows.

\- That is something you and your… Son-in-law, now that I think about it, can agree on.”

 

She did not need a name to know exactly whom he spoke about. _Ser Jaime. The kingslayer._ The knight who broke his vows to kill his king once his back was turned. The innuendo irked her, but she did not react. She just shrugged. What the Spider thought about her was the least of her concern, at the moment. The most crucial battle of this war was coming and with it the answer to everyone’s only question. _What will happen to me once the war is over._ She, for one, knew exactly what she would become. _Does he?_

She slowly frowned as she realized he had nothing to do in the tower of the Hand now that Tywin Lannister had left. Spiders usually crawl their ways into the most unusual of places, but this one was not supposed to creep inside the apartments of the Hand’s wife. She tilted her head and walked to him, closer to the door. Her hair was dripping now and they both could hear thunder screaming at the distance.

 

“What are you doing here, Lord Varys?” she eventually asked. “The Hand has left the tower a hour ago. Only I am inside.

\- You were the one I was searching, my Lady. I was worried for you.

\- Worried for me?” She raised an eyebrow, a lopsided smile on her lips. “You? Come now, Varys. I may be a traitress but I am no fool.

\- Believe it or not, I was. Not to say that I am no longer, but I was not expecting your reaction.” He shrugged. Small rain stains covered his robe now. “Once convinced that Tywin Lannister was not keeping you locked in a cell, the court started to think Stannis’ betrayal drove you mad, or turned you into a recluse. I must say that I was starting to think it might be possible.

\- And what do you think now? Do you think it drove me mad?”

 

 _I suppose one could believe it did,_ she mused. She probably looked mad, drenched from head to toe, her damp hair blown away by the storm. The cautious, quiet, courteous Shara Arryn would have never let that happen, would have she? _Or maybe they just never knew who she truly was._ Or perhaps she herself had forgotten what she was capable of. Varys’ face did not move, did not falter. His smile did not disappear. He did not even looked at her so as to make her understand she looked like a madwoman in her own rights. He just shrugged.

 

“Not mad, I would not say that. I think it just… Completed a transformation you began yourself.

\- If this is a polite way to say that I was already deranged before Stannis Baratheon stepped in, you…

\- It is not.” His smile widened, composed now. “I have known many deranged men and women, my Lady, and none of them won the war they were waging. I would not have betted on your victory until today so if anything your unwavering loyalty to a lost cause seemed more deranged to me than your decision to change side.

\- The cause was not lost until he decided that my help was not necessary. As for my decision to change side, the Lord Hand asked for my help, offered a price and I accepted it.” She nodded to herself. “Politics, once again. Is your concern eased now?”

 

He simply nodded as well. _Great._ Hopefully he would find a way to get the court to understand that her burial would not happen anytime soon. If Varys’ concern was eased now, her distress and disorientation had subsided as well. She now felt the cold wind blowing against her skin and the shivers it sent all across her body. She felt the freezing rain drenching her dress, her hair. _Not that I would ever show Varys that I am freezing cold,_ she bitterly thought as she gestured him to step away from the door. She entered her room again with a last glance at her balcony. She grabbed a towel in her dresser and wrapped herself in it. Varys’ eyes never left her.

 

“When you are done inspecting my sanity,” she simply said. “Send a maid to my room. I will need a bath.

\- Your sanity needs no inspection at all, my Lady, and I will not bother you for long. Would you allow me to give you an advice?

\- By all means, go ahead. I have learned to heed your every word.

\- My Lady is flattering.” His smile curved lopsided for a second before returning to its placid self. “If you mean to remain on the winning side of this war and all those to come, keep both of your eyes open.

\- I did not intend to forget the Lannisters’ true nature, Lord Varys.

\- You would not. But I was not talking about the Lannisters.”

 

She stopped rubbing her hair with her towel and looked at him again. _Then who are you talking about, Spider?_ She frowned as she watched him bow deeply before her and head back to her door. She stepped in front of it, barring him from leaving. He stopped. She fixed her gaze on him, trying to see through his smokes and his many mirrors.

 

“Then whom were you talking about, my Lord Varys?

\- I trust you to be clever enough to understand my words soon enough, Lady Shara.” He smiled again. “In the meantime, I do wish you the best of luck with your newly found allegiance. May it serve you better than your first.

\- You do know that I could just mention how suspicious this sounds to my Lord husband, do you?

\- You could. But as you said it yourself, trust and loyalty have nothing to do with this… Mutually beneficial agreement you came to,” he noted calmly. “The wheel has turned once for you, it may turn again. There is nothing suspicious in understanding how this world works… And nothing wrong in keeping both of your beautiful eyes on the wheel.”

 

She said nothing. She slowly stepped away from the door and let him leave silently. _The wheel,_ she mused. _Is he the one steering it?_ Varys? He had survived many a king already, after all. She remained by the door a long time, trying to make sense of everything he said. _He came to warn me of something. Of another war coming?_ Another king? The five pretenders were as good as dead – only Joffrey and Stannis remained, and soon Stannis would be no more. There was no one left to claim the throne. Not in Westeros anyway.

The violent shivers that ran through her entire body tore her from her thoughts and she grabbed another towel when she realized the one she was using was damp as well. The maids arrived with a wooden tub a few minutes after Varys had left and she gave up on those thoughts momentarily. She waited for the water to be hot enough and slipped inside the tub. The maids were going to help her wash her hair when she asked them to leave her alone for a while. _I shall ring you when I am ready,_ she told them. Both of them bowed and left.

She was facing the windows and lost herself in their contemplation. _Another war coming,_ she mused. Whatever war he might predict would have to wait for this one to end, but it would soon be over. She had heard about the Wall, and the white ravens of the Citadel. Winter was coming at last, and the storm raging outside was a proof of that. But Varys was not the kind of man to get interested in magical beings on the other side of the continent. She herself was not certain what it meant when the Night’s Watch spoke of undeads on the other side of their Wall. _So what war?_

 _The Targaryen girl?_ She had not heard from her in a long time, but after all she did not hear much about anything ever since the Battle of the Blackwater. Her father refused to even mention her, and the late king Robert had to wait for him to be dead to demand her head. _But then again, the righteous and honourable Eddard Stark made sure her head would remain on her shoulders._ Last she heard of her, she had left Qarth after destroying their House of Undying and headed to Astapor to collect her army of slaves with her three baby dragons. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the tub. She may turn into a threat at some point, but for now Stannis Baratheon and his armies marching on the south were the only actual threat.

 _Keep my eyes open._ If truly Daenerys Targaryen were to return to Westeros with her army of slaves, her hoards of savages and three dragons, she could hardly imagine her offering an alliance to the wife of the man who made sure half of her family would be slaughtered in their beds _and_ the daughter of the man who turned most of the kingdom against the crown in a matter of months. If anything, keeping her eyes open would only mean watching her bringing her family’s words – fire and blood. _Or make sure she might never get the chance._ Ned Stark and Jon Arryn were no more, and Tywin Lannister would not trouble himself with whatever moral rule forbidding to kill a child on the other side of the world.

But that would be for a later time. For now this war was reaching its end. She rung the maids and let them take care of her tangled hair and cold skin. In a matter of weeks there would celebrations again in King’s Landing – probably Joffrey’s wedding, at last. What better way to celebrate a victory than celebrating a royal wedding, really? _And the entirety of Westeros’ nobility is already inside the city._ Stannis Baratheon was truly offering a magnificent victory to the Lannisters, for all to see and none to ignore.

 

“My Lady,” one of her maid called her as she left the tub to be dried and clothed. “Your Lord husband had us tell you that you are expected in the throne room tonight. His majesty the king has an announcement to make.

\- Then I better be clothed for the occasion,” she smiled. She turned her head to the other girl. “Would you please find a dress befitting the announcement?

\- My Lady, I ignore what the king will say. Is it important?

\- Paramount. Find the most beautiful dress you can. As for my hair, it does not need to be complicated. Braids will do.”

 

They both mumbled a _yes m’lady_ as one of them opened the armoires and the other had her sit once dry and wearing her undergarments. She patiently made sure her hair was perfectly smooth and untangled and slowly braided it. And Shara stared at herself in the mirror. Nothing had changed in her, except maybe the paleness of her skin. Remaining for many days inside had made it even paler than it used to be. The circles around her eyes had not disappeared, but surely the maid would find a way to hide them. The haunted glow in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a sharp shine. _Varys was not wrong,_ she thought as she watched her hair getting carefully pinned on her skull. _It could have driven me mad._ Maybe it would have, if she had not awoken her to what this betrayal could truly mean. This betrayal would have driven men like her father, like Ned Stark, like Stannis Baratheon mad. Men who could not imagine their stiff and ludicrous rules could change. But she had changed them.

 

“My Lady, I have found two dresses.” She eyed the maid in her mirror. She looked chastened. “But both of them are red.

\- Worry not, it is perfect. Show me.”

 

The other maid left her hair to grab one of the two dressed and hold it high enough for her to see. They were two of the many red and gold dresses Tywin Lannister had made sure to fill her dressers with and she had made sure not to wear. One was of a deep, rich red and was covered with bright golden embroideries with long sleeves that probably touched the ground. The other was slightly darker with less embroidery. They only covered the shoulders and the bustier, leaving the sleeves, the back and the skirt neutral. _This almost looks like a golden armour,_ she thought. _This almost looks like the armoured dress Cersei wore during the Battle of the Blackwater._ She gestured this one. She did not need to look bombastic to convey her message, after all. Her sheer presence was enough of a message. _And the red and gold of the dress._

It was a heavy dress, heavier than she expected, but it fit her almost perfectly. It was a bit too long, but it reinforced its effect. She put on a simple necklace – one her father had gifted her for one of her name days. It had not been taken from her with the rest of her Arryn jewels, probably by mistake or perhaps because it was so small that the soldiers who had been sent to empty her chests did not notice it. It was very simple silvery chain with a small moon pendant made of a moonstone. It had a slight blue hue that only became obvious once worn on the skin. _Only Tywin will see it,_ she mused as she watched herself in the mirror. _Only he needs to see it._

She let her maids finish her preparation and asked them to leave. She remained inside her room until she heard the Hand’s room’s door open and close again. _He has returned,_ she thought as she turned her head to her mirror on the wall. She put it away, tried to listen to check if he was alone. When she was confident that there was no one else than him in the room, she left hers and knocked on his door. She entered when asked to and walked in. He was not at his desk, he was changing his shirt on the bedroom part of the room. She remained on the other side of the screens, glancing at the shadows he projected on them. He did not say a word for a while, as he usually did when people entered his room. _A poor way to assert his power over the entire castle._ More probably over the entire realm. She was never too bothered by this predatory silence. Her father used the same trick ever since she was a child – she had built quite the resistance against it.

 

“I certainly hope your maids understood what tonight means,” he eventually said as he was tying his leather doublet over his shirt, looking martial as ever. “The wenches seemed absolutely witless to me.

\- They had enough wits to immediately tell me about it. But they were indeed clueless about the content of the king’s announcement.

\- It is intentional. We did not need the entire castle to panic and wail as we were setting the battle plan.

\- Did the king even know about it before an hour or two?”

 

She received no answers. She scoffed, understanding the full meaning of this silence. _Of course not. He would have mingled in the adults’ conversation and battle plans._ She rolled her eyes and patiently waited for him to appear between the screen, wearing a raven black leather doublet over his black shirts and pants. She was almost surprised that he did not wear his armour, but maybe it was part of the plan to look as if the battle were already won. _Which it is._ He stopped adjusting the ties of his doublet as he turned his head to look at her. His eyes went from her hair to the very bottom of her dress and so on, missing absolutely no detail of her outfit. She raised an eyebrow. _Fitting?_ The corner of his lips curled into a quick smirk and he nodded. _Yes,_ he answered.

 

“Shall we go?” she asked as he headed to his desk to retrieve the Hand insignia. “Or is it too early?

\- The sooner this is over, the sooner we can leave with the rest of the troops. This is just decorum.

\- So you will go with them, then.” She took the arm he offered her and followed him outside the room. “That must feel awfully familiar. Will this be called the second Defiance of Duskendale?

\- I am certain your sort will find some clever name for this.”

 

 _Just wait for it, my Lord._ She nodded and climbed down the stairs of the tower of the Hand at the arm of Tywin Lannister. _Just wait for it._


	6. What's left to lose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay, I actually had a *very* busy day yesterday, so I hardly had any time for myself until, well, just now.  
> Hope you'll forgive me, and hope you'll like the chapter!

The court’s reaction was he predicted it would be – panic, wailing, cries and tears amongst the crowd of noblemen and women. Shock as well. No one was expected Stannis Baratheon to be so daring as to try to strike the capital when it was at its fullest. She stood behind the throne as king Joffrey announced that his Hand’s armies as well as his good-family’s would soon be marching north to meet Stannis Baratheon’s and stop him before he reached King’s Landing. He never mentioned that half of their men were already marching and obviously forgot to mention the ships filled with wildfire in the harbour. She eyed Tywin Lannister when she understood he would not speak about any of it. He did not look at her. _The king probably ignores this part of the plan anyway._

She was also standing next to the queen mother who remained unmoved, stiff and tensed behind her son’s throne. She had been told about Stannis’ plan, or at least she imagined she had. _Probably at the same time as her son, though,_ she did not recall hearing her voice when the Hand summoned the small Council in his room. The memory of his first attack on King’s Landing seemed vivid in her mind, given the sombre look on her face. Or perhaps she was just vexed that she had not been told earlier, that was also possible.

She pass unnoticed for most of the king’s lengthy speech about the war, about the usurpers who tried to steal his rightful crown, about his pride that so many great houses joined the war on the side of _the only true king of the Seven Kingdoms._ The irony of it was not lost on her. Except maybe for Robb Stark who would have seized the throne and probably done nothing of it, all four of the pretenders who were actually striving to obtain the crown claimed they were _they were the one true king of the Seven Kingdoms,_ whatever their reason was. _And none of them was ever king._ Not even the capricious child seating on the throne. The one true king of the Seven Kingdoms stood beside him and he needed no crown and no throne for everyone to know.

It was only when he ended his painful blabbering and left the room to _prepare himself to lead his armies_ that eyes started to scatter around the rooms. People whispered, some of them cried, men toughened up in front of the ladies around them and most of the royal family eventually followed the king. Except for the Hand who was in the middle of a conversation with Randyll Tarly and his son, Ser Jaime, who remained with the rest of the Kingsguard. She waited for a few minutes before slowly climbing down the stairs that led to the throne. There only did eyes fall on her.

A strange kind of silence fell around her as she reached the bottom of the stairs and graciously greeted those around her. The ladies there felt obliged to exchange a few words with her but their discomfort was obvious. She did not comment on it. She accepted the compliments on her dress, on her hair as if they meant something. The only thing they meant was surprise, to see her alive, to see her proud again, sane of body and mind. When the group of ladies left to return to their apartments, she heard a chuckle nearby. It was Ser Jaime himself, his hand on the pommel of his sword but his eyes mocking.

 

“Something funny that I would have missed, Ser?

\- I think you have missed none of it, my Lady,” he replied with a smile. “I do recall Lady Bulwer saying that she heard words of your reclusiveness. Apparently you were rocking back and forth on your bed all day long.

\- How thoughtful of her to worry about my good health,” she scoffed. “Well, at least now she is reassured, is she not?

\- And given the way the entire court stares at you, they were not expecting to be reassured anytime soon.

\- You get used to it, at some point. This is the second time they condemned me after all.”

She shrugged. She would not deny she was doing all of this on purpose, to show the entire world that they had seen the last of Shara Arryn yet. It worked perfectly. She probably would not have a lot of time before she was ordered to return to the tower of the Hand, so she made the most of it. She eyed Jaime Lannister for a second and decided that bantering with him would be a way like any other to show them she was still very much linked to the royal family.

 

“I suppose you will remain here to protect the castle?

\- I will.” He turned his head to look at her more directly, a frown on his face. “How gracious of you to not mention that I would not be able to go even if I could.

\- There is no graciousness involved here. Jaime Lannister’s left hand might be more capable than most knights’ right hand. Have you tried?

\- Not yet.

\- Maybe you should ask the Lady Brienne to spare with you, then. She seems quite eager to engage in manly activities, if my impressions of her are correct.”

 

He frowned but she carefully continued to look at the shivering crowd of nobles in front of them. She was not trying to unnerve him, not really anyway, but she did not want to return to the tower just now and she needed an excuse for that. She looked around her and quickly spotted the Lady Sansa Stark, alone in the middle of the crowd, seemingly lost both physically and mentally. _Once this is over,_ she thought, staring at her. _I have to send her north._ She could not stay in the capital. The king would make sure to break her down, piece by piece, and she refused to witness that.

 _Not that the Boltons will be any less ruthless._ She had heard many tales about them, especially about the bastard son. The father way too old in any regards for the girl, but if she had a word to say about any union that might happen in Winterfell, twenty-five years were better than whatever torturous activities the bastard enjoyed. She looked away from Sansa when she herself headed to the door to leave the throne room.

 

“I gather that we will be honoured by your presence for a tad longer than we thought,” Jaime Lannister continued, unmoved by the sight of the terrified and panicked crowd in front of them. “I suppose this is the effect you were going for, is it not?

\- You see right through me, Ser.

\- You surely know how to play this wicked game we are all stuck in.” He shrugged. “Truth be told, my Lady, we were not expecting you to survive a month beside my Lord father.

\- Since we are both so sincere with each other, do not think I ignored that,” she smirked. “Neither did your father, really.

\- There is nothing Tywin Lannister ignores. Except everything that happens right under his nose.”

 

 _You would know._ She eyed him quickly and chuckled when he did. She still could not tell whether he truly ignored everything that happened between his own children, or if he had decided to turn a blind eye on these things. Tywin Lannister may not be the kind of men to ever forgive a mistake from his own kind, but this was so much that his mind might have just shut itself in this regards. He would not be the only one. Jon Arryn’s brilliant mind did shut itself in front of Robert Baratheon’s complete and utter inability to rule. To some extent, it was just a way to shield themselves from the horrible truth they could not fathom.

Obviously Jaime Lannister was not talking about _this_ particular thing that happened right under Tywin Lannister’s nose, but merely about her and whatever he imagined she was doing. She was going to reply when she saw the concerned party walking towards them both, ignoring the way most courtiers looked at him pleadingly. The king had done nothing to reassure his people except gloat about his future victory and they seem to except some measure of comfort from the coldest man of the entire realm. _Stannis Baratheon’s supporters may be delusional,_ she mused as she graciously curtsied. _But at least they have the excuse of religion._ They did not.

 

“Son,” Tywin’s severe voice rung. “Lady wife. I do hope you are not trying to bring my son into your intricate schemes.

\- I would not dare to do such thing, my Lord. I was merely telling Ser Jaime how reassured I was to know that the Kingsguard would remain within the Red Keep to protect it and not leave to Duskendale in your wake.

\- The Red Keep will need no protection once the battle is over. Stannis Baratheon’s army will be no more,” he retorted, high enough for the closest courtiers to hear him and shush their neighbours. “As will his foolish claim to the throne.

\- Will we truly have to endure the ordeal you organized after you took the city, father? Just kill them all, or pardon them all, and let us be done with it.

\- We shall see. His majesty will decide.”

 

Jaime Lannister rolled his eyes. She refrained from doing the same. She truly had no desire of another power display from house Lannister, especially if it involved another entire day spent at hearing Stannis Baratheon’s sworn houses official apologies and knee-bending. The Hand frowned deeply as to get his son to understand he would not stand this kind of arrogance tonight and turned his eyes on her. She made no comment, wise enough to see that he was not in the mood for banter. She did not really need any proof of that. No man was in the mood for banter before this kind of ultimate, win or lose battle.

 

“I have been called to the harbour to supervise our ships’ departure,” he declared, his eyes on her for a second. “When I am done, I will see you in the tower of the Hand my Lady.

\- Of course, my Lord.

\- I will see you when I am back, son.” He placed a commanding hand on his shoulder. “When you are done here, take the Lady Shara to her room.”

 

Both of them bowed their neck as the Hand of the king left to the small Council’s room. She watched him doing so, satisfied to hear that her wildfire’s plot would actually come to be. She felt Jaime’s eyes weighting on her but decided to ignore it. The man was not clear-sighted enough to understand the full meaning of his father’s staring at her and demanding to see her before his departure. _Although he is clear-sighted enough to know that he does not want to simply kiss me one last time before risking his life._ The sheer idea of it was laughable.

He did not immediately ask her to follow him. He made sure the courtiers would safely leave the halls and return to their chambers and only gestured her to come with him when he was certain no one would need him here. He seemed neither happy nor unhappy with his order and remained silent until they reached the quieter inner court that led, amongst other things, to the tower of the Hand. She broke the silence herself when they found themselves mostly alone and hidden by the bushes of roses the Tyrells had planted everywhere.

 

“Did your father order you to keep an eye on me while he is away?

\- Why would he do that?

\- Because it is part of our arrangement that I will no longer be constantly followed by one of his watchdogs,” she lightly said. “But I would not even hope to be left unsupervised when he cannot do it himself. Am I wrong?

\- You know you are not. You are not supposed to know, though.

\- Your father is not foolish enough to truly believe that.”

 

She chuckled. He shook his head and continued to walk. She greeted the few noblewomen they crossed path with with the most luminous smile she could make. All of them barely responded at all and quickly looked away, either because they could not hide their shame or because they could not stand the victorious hue on her face. She stopped walking when he did, a few feet away from the tower. She was almost surprised to hear him sigh and turn to face her. The storm had subsided and the last rays of sun managed to pierce through the thick clouds. One of them made his armour shine like pure gold. Despite his sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, she had to admit Jaime Lannister was probably one of the most handsome men she had ever met. _Some sort of prince charming,_ she mused. _The blond, brash and rich kind._

 

“You are lucky, Lady Shara, that I was not involved in the battle plan.

\- Why so? Would you have sacrificed me to Stannis Baratheon’s god?

\- Any god who revels in flames is not a god I would follow,” he winced. “But I would have made the most of the surprising turn of event that led my father to change his mind about you.

\- Well Ser, by all means, do tell. I am always most inclined to hear what you Lannisters plan for me.

\- Have you ever been to Duskendale, my Lady?”

 

She shook her head. The only thing she ever saw of Duskendale was its harbours when she sailed north from King’s Landing to either Gulltown or White Harbour. She barely ever saw the Dun Fort from afar, and the only thing she really remembered about the city was that it seemed ludicrously small and undeserving of its reputation. _The good thing is that its reputation will hardly go any better after the battle,_ she thought. If anything remained of it after the fights.

 

“Well, the city is surrounded by very high walls with only one gate to enter them,” he explained, looking at the Red Keep’s walls as he talked. “This is what made the Defiance so easy. Lord Darklyn only had to close one gate to seal closed the entire town.

\- I suppose my role would have had something to do with these high walls you speak of.

\- Most of the realm ignores the new arrangement between my father and you.” He shrugged and looked at her again. “Stannis included. I would have placed you at the top of the walls, just above the gates.

\- You would have used me as a bait.”

 

She raised an eyebrow and scoffed. Obviously she wishes no such thing to befall her, but the plan made sense – in a way. Put her on the wall, wait for Stannis Baratheon to notice her and come, probably alone, closer to the city. Unleash all seven hells, rain arrow and fire, send a hundred men. _That would have made sense indeed,_ she thought. _With anyone but Stannis._ She shook her head and giggled. He blinked, surprised, and frowned when he realized she was mocking him.

 

“Forgive me, Ser,” she said once calmed. “But have you ever talked to Stannis Baratheon? He disavowed me. My fate is no concern of his and if your plan involved him getting in reach of the bowmen, better put your father above the gates than me.

\- So you believe Lord Baratheon would miss the opportunity to shame you further?

\- A man who remains blind to opportunities does not truly miss them, does he?”

 

She smiled and so did he, after a while. Stannis was many a thing, but vain he never was. This kind of petty taunting was the sort of things he blamed the Lannisters for – not the other way around. Jaime Lannister eventually shrugged again and led her up the stairs to the rooms’ landing. She thanked him and tilted her head when she caught his staring. _Well well._ Winning the Lannisters over may not be all that complicated after all.

 _Or mayhap this is all an act._ Jaime Lannister probably did not know much about Stannis Baratheon, but she could not imagine he would know _so little_ as to think a man as severe and righteous as him would truly fall into this vain trap. So there were two possibilities: either the plan was not to kill him but to kill _her_ , and it made sense because he probably would have asked one of his bowmen to shoot her through the head and be done with it, or the plan was not _his_ at all. _Or perhaps a combination of both._

 

“Clever plan nonetheless,” she softly said as he headed to the stairs. “Especially if my death was the main objective. Do you wish me dead, Ser?

\- Not personally.” He had frozen in his movement. “Not until you give reasons to.

\- As far as I know, neither does the Lord Hand. This leaves your siblings. Lord Tyrion and I barely know each other,” she thought aloud, enjoying Jaime’s growing discomfort. “So I gather Her grace has not changed her mind about me.

\- You know what they say about turncoats, Lady Shara. Once the traitor…

\- Always the traitor. I know indeed, just as well as you do.”

 

There was a pause. He did not move, still frozen. He did not say anything either and simply climbed down the stairs. _Touché, Ser,_ she thought as she returned to the Hand’s apartments. She had no idea how much time she would to wait for the Hand to return but she rang her maids anyway to leave the imposing dress she was wearing. She could not sit properly with it and she would hate to damage it. She asked for a nightgown and a robe to wear above it to look decent but be able to sit and read while waiting for him. She dismissed the maids and took care of her own hair in front of her dressing table.

It took much longer than she thought it would, so that she was barely done when the door opened again on Tywin Lannister. She finished her simple braid and side-eyed him as he headed straight to his desk to collect a few parchments. He did not look annoyed, just focused. _As you do, when you are preparing the last battle of a war._ He completely ignored her presence for a while, as usual, before she heard his voice rise in the completely silent room.

 

“Of course you had to make a show of yourself in the throne room,” he commented. She heard no blame in his voice – just a note. “At least this time it was a suitable show.

\- You always wanted me to wear your colours, my Lord, so I did.

\- These colours only matter to you when you decide they do.” She turned on her seat to look at him. He was still rummaging in his desk’s drawers. “Do not think I missed the necklace you were wearing. Where did you find it?

\- In my jewellery box. Your men must have missed it when they emptied it.

\- And you decided to wear it, obviously.”

 

 _Obviously._ She smiled and rose from her seat. She remained on the other side of the screens and patiently waited for him to be done putting papers in the leathery envelope he was holding. She would not see him for probably two full weeks and that would be the most freedom she ever got ever since she was thrown in her cell, she could show patience. _I have done worst thing than wait for a man to give me his last orders._ It took him another five minutes before he was done. He turned to look at her and eyed from the other side of the room.

 

“I have ordered Ser Jaime to keep an eye on you while I am away,” he said. “From afar.

\- You obviously did. Your son is not the most subtle man there is, my Lord.” She shrugged. “With the Dornish party still within the Red Keep, I was not expecting you to let me roam free inside the castle. Who knows what Doran Martell and I could do, once left unsupervised?

\- When I am back we will see for this agreement of ours to be formalized. In the meantime, you will behave.

\- When have I not?”

 

He frowned. She smirked. There was still the matter of the queen apparently wishing her dead still, but somehow she was quite certain he knew about that already. She could survive the queen’s wrath two weeks, if she was cautious enough not to cross her path too often – or if she found the right allies to shield her. _Margaery Tyrell and I will spend wonderful afternoons together_ , she mused. Cersei Lannister would not dare harming her daughter-to-be’s best friend _and_ her father’s wife, would she? _At least while said father lived._

 

“I would add another thing to this agreement, if you would be so kind.

\- What would be this thing?

\- Well, something simple, really,” she sighed. “I would like you to make sure I will not be _accidentally_ killed by your children.

\- Nonsense.” He frowned deeper. “None of them would even dare disregarding my orders.

\- Oh, really? None of them? Ser Jaime just told me his battle plan would have involved me being Stannis Baratheon’s bowmen’s target, you know.” Her voice had lost her fake warmth. She was now just staring at him. “I do not think he wants me dead, but I really do not want to know which order he would choose to obey, between yours and your daughter.”

 

He remained silent for a few seconds, his jaw clenched and his brows furrowed. _No wonder why he wants more children,_ she thought. _All of his heirs are complete and utter disappointments in their own rights._ Surprisingly enough Tyrion seemed the lesser disappointment of them all. His appearance was one thing, but at least his wits were sharp. The same could not be said of his siblings. The good thing was that in case of untimely death of their father, she would be able to escape the capital rather easily – none of them would be able to stop her the way Tywin Lannister could. _But let us hope it does not come to that._ She rather liked the agreement they had reached in the morning.

 

“I will see for your safety to be ensured.

\- So will I. I am sure the Lady Margaery and I will be the best of friends these next two weeks.” She smirked. “Though I fear she might be less of a chatterbox than she used to be.

\- Do as you will. Just know that I will ask for a complete report of your activities when I am back. Do not give me any reason to change my mind about your new status.

\- You may find even more reasons to keep your mind the way it is.” She nodded to herself. “Stay alive, my Lord, or I might vanish in thin air and change my own mind about your house.”

 

She defiantly smiled, bright and more confident than she felt. Everything they had settled for would only come to be if he survived the war and if she survived the Red Keep. _Two weeks,_ she mused. And after that… Who knew?


	7. Stone on mountaintop

News reached King’s Landing that the Lannister and Tyrell armies had reached Duskendale six days after they had left the city. She obviously was not the first to be told, but the sweet Lady Margaery Tyrell had her sought in her room to be the one to tell her. She was hardly surprised, but she was rather reassured that they had the time to settle within the city before Stannis’ armies reached its walls. Now it was a matter of days, if not hours, before the battle began. _And another week before the war is over._

She was now seating at the Tyrells’ table, between Margaery and the Lady Bulwer who was very talented in hiding that she had basically announced her stark raving mad a week before, eating fruits and cakes with the rest of their party. Sansa Stark usually participated in the luncheons and lunches, but she was not there this morning. She had heard rumours that the king was frustrated not to be in Duskendale himself – and usually frustration meant violence for king Joffrey. He did not unleash it on his wife-to-be… _But rather on his former wife-to-be._ The poor girl.

But she could not simply send her away now. The harbour was completely closed, just in case Stannis Baratheon would get the sudden idea of unleashing the rest of his fleet on King’s Landing, and though he did not follow her all day long, Jaime Lannister was never too far from her when she was outside her room. It would have to wait for the wedding to actually happen. _And I cannot do anything to protect her._ She could hardly to anything to protect herself from the _royal_ Lannisters, except spending her entire days with the Tyrells. Which had both the effect of keeping Cersei Lannister away from her _and_ infuriate her even more.

Not that the Tyrells did not have an agenda on their own to pursue with her, but at least theirs was not life threatening. She had barely seen Olenna Tyrell during the week she spent with her granddaughter, but her shadow loomed over every conversation she had with Margaery. She was not a fool, nor blind or deaf – she knew exactly what the Tyrells expected of her. Some measure of help in digging their thorn deeper into the throne, the kind of help Tywin Lannister refused them. While it was quite flattering that they would believe she could change his mind about all things, it was also quite useless. And dangerous, for both them and her.

She was discussing the wedding and its organization she saw the entire table rise and curtsy gracefully. She raised an eyebrow and looked in the same direction as they did to see the small and wrinkled Lady Olenna appear between the flowered hedges. She rose as well and curtsied, not as low as them for she was more or less at the same level of nobility as her. Margaery rushed to embrace her and gestured the table.

 

“Grandmother, would you sit with us and eat some delicacies? These are especially good, I believe they are Lady Lannister’s favourites.

\- They are,” she nodded when Olenna Tyrell eyed her. “I think the berries come from the Vale of Arryn, for I remember eating this kind of pies when I was a little girl.

\- How charming.” The old woman smirked, offering the table a toothless smile. “I shall join you for lunch, sweet thing, but I was searching for Lady Shara. I do not think we have been properly introduced, have we?

\- No, indeed. I apologize for that, my Lady.

\- Please, do not. We owe this to the godsforsaken war, do we not?”

 

She nodded politely. Well, it only took a thought and suddenly Olenna Tyrell appeared and wished to talk to her. _Perhaps her plan with Margaery is not going as fast as she hopes,_ she mused. She thanked her warmly for her invitation and headed to her grandmother who took her arm authoritatively. She felt the weight of the ladies’ gaze on her back until they both turned and vanished amongst the hedges.

Lady Olenna was always followed by the same two personal guards, two twins Shara could not tell apart. She never heard their voice and she imagined they were ordered not to reveal _anything_ about what they heard while they escorted their Lady wherever she roamed. No Lannister guard or member of the Kingsguard was in sight and it made sense given that this part of the castle was only occupied by the Tyrell party. They were less soldiers than there used to be, given that most of them were gone to Duskendale, but she had seen a dozen of them when she arrived from the tower of the Hand. The tower itself was filled with Lannister men at every storey.

 

“I gather you spend a lot of your time with my granddaughter, Lady Shara,” Olenna eventually said. “How gracious of you to honour my family with your presence.

\- How gracious of you, my Lady, to welcome me in these gardens so often. If I had not seen the hedges grow I would hardly recognize the place.

\- A very sorry garden, if you ask me.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “The Targaryens may have been lunatics but at least they knew how to tend to a garden.

\- Then it is a good thing you came to restore it to its former self.”

 

She looked around them, appreciative. She had no particular taste for flowers and hedges and bushes and fountains, but she had to recognize the Tyrells had made this place their own. The scent of the roses was enough to hide the stench that hardly left the capital. _No wonder Margaery never leaves this place._ She had never seen Highgarden, but if rumours were to be believed it was the only castle that could rival the Eyrie in beauty. She had troubles fathoming how a simple castle lost in the middle of fields could rival the grand Eyrie at the top of their mountains, even filled with flowers and fruits and beautiful Tyrells everywhere.

 

“Obviously you Arryns know very little about gardens. Now that you are a Lannister as well it can hardly change, given how much stone there is in Casterly Rock. Have you ever seen the castle?

\- I cannot say I have, my Lady. Have you?

\- Of course I have. I have seen every castle of this realm, except for Winterfell but who could really wish to see this faraway pile of stones?” She smirked, mockingly. Shara did not comment. “Well, only a Lannister can see any trace of beauty in Casterly Rock. To my eyes it is just a huge stone they have carved to live within. The sea roars when storms arrive and it echoes through this monstrosity of a castle.

\- I am sure it has its charms.

\- Its gold veins, probably. Neither Tywin Lannister nor his children can be charming enough to make up for the horridness of this place.”

 

She could not refrain from scoffing. She had absolutely no desire to see what Casterly Rock looked like, and even less desire to live there. _If anything I would choose the Eyrie over any other castle that is not the Red Keep._ She let silence lingered for as long as they continued to walk through the gardens, until they reached a small pavilion that overlooked the Bay of the Blackwater. She knew the place – she hid there a lot to torment her nurses and tutors when her father was too busy to scold her. It was at the other side of the castle, far enough from the tower of the Hand to force them to run through the corridors trying to catch up on her. _But I was a child,_ she remembered. She ran faster than them, with their heavy dresses and their thick robes. And she always found her way to this pavilion.

She lost herself in her memories as Olenna Tyrell told her to get comfortable on the benches. Sometimes her father came himself. Sometimes he reprimanded her for her impudence, but most of the times he just sat there and looked at the sea. He never said it, but he missed the Vale and the Eyrie. King’s Landing was a stinking pile of houses where too many people lived and the Red Keep had none of their beloved castle’s charms. She was too young to understand what it meant to never be certain to ever go back home. _Now I do._

 

“Some pretend us high Lords and Ladies are much like our homes,” the crone continued, ignoring or disregarding her inattention. “I would not usually believe this kind of sappy nonsense, of course, but we can hardly deny that there is more stone to the Lannisters than there is flesh.

\- Well, what would it mean for you then? House Redwyne of the Arbor…” She pretended to think about it. “Wine, wealth, beauty. It is quite the adequate summary of your family indeed.

\- Ha,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Listen to you, young Lady, pretending there is any beauty left in the old flowery hag. Your father was not much of a flatterer, but mayhap you have learned this kind of foolish trickery here.

\- There is much to learn when it come to trickery here, for sure.”

 

She shrugged graciously, accepting the glass of wine she was offered. From the Arbor, obviously, a golden wine she knew to be sweeter than the sweetest Dornish wines she usually sipped. She dipped her lips in it and turned her head to the sea. Sometimes she wondered if her father came here for her, or simply because this endless, blue nothingness reminded him of the sea of clouds that surrounded the white spears of their palace. It did not look nearly as peaceful, but Jon Arryn spent so many years away that he probably settled for what he could. Lady Olenna’s eyes never left her as she reflected on these stolen moments of her childhood.

 

“I have seen this castle of yours,” she continued. “The Eyrie you Arryns are so proud of, so high in those cursed mountains that horses can barely make the journey in a day. But that is part of the point, is it not? To show yourself only to those you deem worthy, with the full height of your honour, your pride and the beauty of your towers.

\- You would have to ask my ancestors, my Lady. I must admit I ignore their original intent regarding the Eyrie.

\- You are cautious, polite and gracious.” Somehow those three things, usually meant as compliments, sounded like insults in her toothless mouth. “Three things that run in the Arryn blood, I believe?”

 

She said nothing, knowing very well that something would come after that. She only nodded, something that Olenna Tyrell was waiting for to giggle. It was a very peculiar sound, for the old woman laughed like a maiden still. _Probably the only thing she had kept of her maiden self,_ she mused as she fought hard against herself not to look surprised. She watched her dismissed with a single sway of her hand every guards and soldiers who followed her, including the twins, and they both waited for them to have vanished before looking at each other again. _There we are._ What did she want from her?

 

“But you are also ambitious, treacherous and ruthless, three things that do not run in this pure Andal blood of yours.” She tilted her head, her small eyes intense. “You have never ceased to rise, rise and now you are no longer as high as honour.

\- You are right, none of these things seem to be running the Arryn blood,” she admitted, smiling wryly. “And you are right, I am no longer as high as honour. I am higher than honour.

\- Beg pardon?

\- You seem very knowledgeable about my house, Lady Olenna, but would you perchance know when our words were crafted?

\- A long time ago, child, as all houses’ words were.

\- So you do not.”

 

She planted her eyes in the old woman’s, enduring her intent gaze and everything she read in them. Quite a lot of contempt, condescension and the same kind of patience parents show to tantrum-prone children. _She is looking at me as she would look at her grandchildren,_ she understood, and possibly the way she looked at her own son. But she was not her granddaughter. She had no grandparents, no parents, no family left to be entitled to this kind of patronizing stance. And as she never let anyone look down on her before, not even the Hand of the king, she would not let this relic use her own words against her.

 

“Our words were crafted after Aegon’s conquest by Lord Ronnel Arryn, the last King of Mountain and Vale, when he grew old enough for his regent mother to give him the leash of his lands,” she explained, her voice precise and slow. “Before that we had no words to be remembered by, because we hardly had any contact with the rest of Westeros. Who needed to know by which words we went? We were kings and queens. That was more than enough for the world.

\- You are mistaken if you believe I need history lessons from a girl barely old enough to be called a woman.

\- But Lord Ronnel decided that we needed words, and because his mother and himself had bended the knee before the Targaryens despite the wishes of their people, he declared that his house’s honour would be known by all.” She pretended she had not heard Lady Tyrell’s scolding, unmoved. “Looking at the white spears of his beloved castle, he settled for these four words. As high as honour.

\- What are you doing, child? What are you trying to say?

\- What I am trying to get you to understand, Lady Olenna Tyrell, is that words are nothing but that; words. The truth of my blood is this: it is made of warriors, of conquerors and kings. It has been forged through fights and treasons. My blood is as honourable as it is treacherous, as cautious as it is ruthless, as ambitious as it is gracious, for it is a blood of war.”

 

Olenna Tyrell did not utter a word for a while, staring at her with so much intensity in her eyes that Shara thought that if they could shoot fire she would be burning to cinders. But she did not falter, did not cower. She had withstood Tywin Lannister and the cold inferno that burned in his eyes. She had withstood his wrath, his contempt – she would never have to withstand them again, if he returned and honoured his promises. An old flowery hag was _nothing_ compared to him. Before long she would be gone and history would forget her thorns and her good words, and the entire world would forget the fear she inspired in them when she was alive. History would remember who was the king behind the iron throne and who wore the shadow of a crown behind the shiny one. _And if I have my way,_ she mused. _It shall also remember who stood beside him._

 It took a while before the corner of her lips curled up in a smirk. She heard her chuckle again, hiding her mouth with an elegant hand as her eyes never moved from hers. Shara remained unshaken. She could almost taste the bitterness of her anger in her mouth, but she let nothing show. If truly Lords and Ladies were their castle, then she intended to be the Eyrie: too high in the sky to be moved by the spiders and the snakes hiding in the flowers, so low in the valleys. Too high to be touched. Too cold.

 

“To think so craven a man could raise so fierce a girl,” she hissed. “Have you raised yourself to remind the entire world of who the Arryns truly are? Did it strike you a week ago, when Stannis Baratheon let you down and Tywin Lannister offered to pick you up? Such a convenient story to hide how much of your honour you had to sell off in order to remain so close to the crown.

\- Believe what you may, but I would advise you to keep both Stannis Baratheon and house Reyne’s fates in mind if ever you ventured to forget what happens to those who _let down_ house Arryn and house Lannister.

\- Your place here is too fragile for you to utter such threats, my girl.” She smiled even wider. “Or perhaps you truly believe your Lord husband would disregard our alliance for the love of you?

\- Love is for children and poems, but Lord Tywin Lannister would do quite a lot of things to protect his house and if I am not mistaken, you have already tried to bypass him quite a few times.”

 

 _Once, obviously, with Sansa._ She had not heard of any other attempt to go against Tywin Lannister’s best interests, but she knew that Lady Olenna would understand exactly what she meant. _She obviously tried. And I can find how._ She did not lose her smile, though, she simply nodded to herself and sipped her glass of wine silently. Shara seldom lost her temper, and though she did not really lose it given how composed she was, it was a strange feeling indeed to speak so harshly to someone she barely knew. A strange one, but not unpleasant. Her caution drove her to never speak her mind and to never truly assert herself – but if she were to remain a Lannister, she had to play by their rules and none of them were cautious. _You only fear those you understand,_ she thought. _For you know what they can do if you disappoint them._

 

“Then I suppose you and I should be friends instead of foes,” the old Olenna said, her voice suddenly sweeter than ever before. “What do you think about that?

\- I think that you must need something from me, otherwise you would not have bothered to ruin your day with this painful conversation.

\- You know, my dear, us relics do enjoy testing you younglings.” She dismissed her words with a sway of her hand. “After all, your kind will remain on these lands far longer than us. I am quite glad to see that you are nothing like your father. The old man and I never were able to see eye to eye.

\- I can see why. You are welcome, then. What do you want from me?”

 

Shara finished her glass and tilted her head, waiting for the actual reason why she was seating with the dowager Lady of Highgarden in the middle of the afternoon, away from the eyes that were supposed to watch her every moves and the ears that were supposed to hear her every words.

 

“You surely know what project your husband entertains with my grandson Loras.

\- You surely know that the Lord Hand and I did not speak to each other for quite some time after the failed wildfire plot,” she frowned. “So I have no knowledge of any plan involving Ser Loras.

\- Well, then allow me to enlighten you. Lord Tywin Lannister wants Loras to marry Cersei.

\- Quite the match he offers you. House Tyrell would be twice wed to the royal family.

\- Spare me the pleasantries, my girl, we both know how disastrous this marriage would be.”

 

 _Would be._ Not _is going to be._ She raised an eyebrow and did not comment on the full meaning of her remark. Loras’ inclinations were no secret to anyone, especially not her. His relation with the late Renly Baratheon was not something that could be ignored, given how bombastic the youngest Baratheon brother was. And she could not disagree – Cersei and Loras would be the most miserable wed couple she had ever met. It was so hard to imagine that she could hardly picture it herself.

 

“I am certain the Lord Hand has good reasons to wish for this union.

\- Of course he has. He needs a way to get his daughter away from the throne and to have ears and eyes in Highgarden. He hoped for Willas at first, you know.” She rolled her eyes. The idea seemed to repulse her. “While obviously we have no interest in seeing this union happen.

\- With all due respect my Lady, I am not so sure Her grace will be so keen on helping her father if he sells her off to your grandson,” she noted. “Well there is not much I can do against that, is there? If Lord Tywin did not see fit to tell me about this project, my opinion on the matter is hardly warranted.

\- I am not sure your opinion was warranted when you thwarted our initial plan to marry Willas and Sansa, Lady Shara.”

 

She simply smirked. She was not surprised Olenna Tyrell knew who stymied her schemes. Petyr Baelish probably told her before he left the court. _Or mayhap she just guessed it by herself, her mind is sharp enough for this kind of reasoning._ But it was different this time. She had no interest in stymieing this particular scheme. If she had to spend her life in the Red Keep, she was quite happy to know that Cersei Lannister would soon be sent off to Highgarden, never to return. After all, house Tyrell and house Lannister were allies – it did not change much that the alliance involved two weddings and not just one.

But it was interesting to know that the Tyrells themselves did not want it. _Except that Tywin already knows, otherwise she would not have told me._ He probably forced their hand in some ways, probably by threatening to name Loras in the Kingsguard without his father’s approval. After all, king Aerys did the same to Jaime Lannister. And if indeed he asked for Willas first, Loras may be the last bargain he would be willing to struck.

 

“We are not against another marriage between our houses, we simply do not want Robert Baratheon’s reject to be wed to our most handsome child.

\- Most handsome with most inconvenient inclinations. At least you might get more beautiful heirs through Her grace.

\- If she can even have more children,” Olenna Tyrell scoffed. “And if she does not kill him before he ever get the chance to touch her.

\- What would you have me do, Lady Olenna? None of this concerns me at all and I have absolutely not benefit to find in changing the Lord Hand’s mind about this. At least if Cersei weds Loras she will be gone from the Red Keep.

\- Find another Lannister girl to wed Loras to. Convince your Lord husband that the union will be more profitable to his house.” Her tone was sharp. Authoritative. “Get him to understand that Cersei might not be the only woman well versed in poisons.”

 

 _Well well._ Threats now. Not that Tywin Lannister would believe her if she simply told him the Tyrells were plotting to kill his daughter, but somehow she had little doubts Olenna Tyrell would indeed try to get rid of a cumbersome good-granddaughter if she feared for her beloved grandson’s life and make it look like a very unfortunate accident. The kind of things that could have befallen her, if Stannis Baratheon had not publically disavowed her.

 

“You do realize you just uttered a threat against Her grace’s life?

\- Threat is such an ugly word,” she sighed. “And it would be so unwise to present the matter this way to the Lord Tywin.

\- And we surely would not want to be unwise, would we?

\- You are too clever for your own good, my dear.” She hailed her guards who returned without a word. “Let us hope you use that wits of yours more wisely than your late father.

\- Well, you did say I am nothing like him after all.”

 

The two women smirked and Shara watched the Tyrell crone vanish in the garden’s alleys. _Who said the war was over?_ Maybe it had just begun. Maybe the _real_ war was just unfolding. And maybe no one was ready for the battle.


	8. Untold secrets and silent promises

They said Duskendale burned to ashes, the way it should have burned twenty years in the past. No one knew that there would be wildfire, no even the city dwellers – when they released it, rained it over the high walls, it ate them up. Stannis Baratheon’s armies were no more in a matter of hours, burned to ashes by the green flames. When the fallen king understood that he would not survive this, he unleashed his own flames on the city – and it burned as well. The battle lasted an entire day and when night came, two-third of his men had perished. A few hundreds of Lannister and Tyrell soldiers, those who did not survive either the walls’ crumbling or the Baratheon’s flames died before he surrendered. By any account, it was a triumph for the allied armies. _Except on the account of the city dwellers,_ she mused. _And the city proper._

The once prosperous city was now a fuming pile of cinders. The harbour was destroyed. Half of its population died in a matter of hours. Duskendale had seen the end of its days, not because it rebelled against the crown, but because it had the ill luck of being on the way to Stannis Baratheon’s now destroyed armies. But it was a victory, and the victorious armies were now marching south again. King’s Landing was getting ready to welcome them back and celebrate the end of the war, over because there was no one left for the Lannisters to crush. Curtains fall – end of the War of the Five Kings. 

As she watched the city covered with red, gold and green from her balcony, Shara was left with a bitter taste in her mouth. She cared not for the city’s fate, not at all. Other cities had been destroyed during the war. It was the price to be paid – war means destruction. But this was not the end of war she pictured. She imagined many things, many victors. For a while she imagined what it would be, to see Robb Stark enter King’s Landing and sit on the throne. _He would have never sit on the iron throne,_ she mused. _The boy cared not for the south._ She imagined what would have happened once he would be gone. The unavoidable rebellion. Before that she imagined what it would be, to have Renly Baratheon as a king. Then again, it never lasted. The charming lad was always overthrown in her mind.

And Stannis Baratheon. She had very precise images in her mind. Him, on the throne, her nearby. Behind the iron monster of a throne he would sit on, she would be standing tall and proud with the king she would have made. No crown on her head, but the shadow of one – way less heavy than the one he would wear his entire life. It was a beautiful image, really. It was what she fought so hard to get, what she survived to see happening.

But it would not. She never accepted to picture what it would be to keep Joffrey _Baratheon_ on the throne. And she did not manage to imagine it. How ridiculous was it that after an entire _year_ of battles, of blood spilt and deaths galore, they would… _Keep_ this boy king on the throne? That he would continue to throw tantrums over tantrums for the entire realm to see? That nothing would change, except the now widely spread certainty that the Lannisters would never be ousted from the throne?

It was ridiculous enough like this, but to think she actively contributed to its happening was probably the hardest thing to process. The perfect picture of Stannis Baratheon on the throne and herself behind it would never come to be – but the picture of Joffrey Baratheon on the throne, Tywin Lannister behind it and herself somewhere beside him would. And it did not make more sense than the rest of it.

 _My reasons have not changed, and they are righteous,_ she mused as she turned away from the city’s sight. Stannis Baratheon had betrayed her, rejected all of her attempts to further his claim and she could not, would not forgive him. Duskendale burned because of that, as many cities burned before and probably would burn one day. _Duskendale burned because I told Tywin to use wildfire, to fight fire with fire._ No, Duskendale burned because _war_ destroys city. If Stannis had had his ways, King’s Landing would have burned and would have been destroyed. _Because he thinks I have betrayed him._ No, because he is a rigid, inflexible man with a ludicrous sense of duty and morals.

She tried her best to dismiss her sudden and unwarranted guilt the entire day, knowing that the armies were bound to arrive by twilight and she would probably have to attend their ceremonious arrival. She was not supposed to _regret_ the outcome she contributed to create, or at least she was not supposed to show her regrets. _I do not regret,_ she repeated herself. She had no other reasonable choice. Absolutely none.

She was hoping to spend the end of the afternoon in the gardens, away from both the rustling crowds of courtiers and her own thoughts, but she realized quite quickly that the gardens were completely packed with people eager to be the first to see the hosts reaching the city’s walls. There was not a single corner of the gardens that was left unoccupied or calm. She had to make her way through the Tyrells, Martells, Lannisters to finally reach a _silent_ part of the castle.

The Royal Sept. She recognized the place once inside. She froze on the doorway and slowly closed the huge door behind her. There was not a single sound inside the place, not a living soul to meet her as she slowly walked in. The Royal Sept did not have its own septon; usually the High Septon simply came to officiate whenever the royal family asked for it. Robert Baratheon was not a believer and neither was his family, so the Sept had hardly been used these last decades. She herself only went there once or twice and the last time was a year and a half ago, when her father was installed here before the Silent Sisters took care of his body and left King’s Landing for the Vale to return his bones to the Eyrie’s ossuary. She never returned ever since.

She climbed down the stairs that led to the seven altars and reached the centre of the hall. She was never a believer herself. The Faith of the Seven was not something her father was much attached to – though he dutifully observed the most important ceremonies whenever he had to. She did the same, but those statues and rites meant nothing for her. She found no solace in the peaceful smile of the Mother, no joy in the Maiden’s beauty, no strength in the Father. The only why she remained here was the silent. And the loneliness.

It did not last, though. After a while the door opened again and she heard the clicking of an amour when it closed. She turned to face the intruder and saw Ser Jaime Lannister in his shining, pristine armour standing before the great doors of the Sept. She bowed her head and headed back to the stairs to sit on the middle landing, glad to be wearing a simple, corsetless dress.

 

“I was searching for you,” Jaime said while walking down the stairs. “No one seemed to know where you were. What are you doing here?

\- I was searching for a quiet place.

\- This is certainly quieter than the gardens. Why did you not remain in your room?

\- I needed fresh air.” She shrugged and looked up at him. “Or whatever counts as fresh air in this crowded castle. Did you need me for something?

\- I simply wanted to make sure you were not in troubles.”

 

 _Or causing some,_ she finished. She smiled and looked away, to the stained glasses that covered the wall in front of her. This Sept was nowhere near as spectacular as the Great Sept of Baelor, but there was an atmosphere to it that felt more sincere, more genuine than the ludicrously high ceilings and spears she could almost see from her room’s balcony. The stained glasses themselves were simple and simply coloured the sunlight in shades of red, blue, green and gold. _Or perhaps it is just because it looks like the Eyrie’s sept_ , she mused.

Jaime Lannister was looking around, standing next to her in his golden armour, as if he had never seen this place before. He had guarded her father’s body with the rest of his Sworn Brother, but he probably did not care enough to really notice the place. She could not blame him. Her father never talked to him – he despised him for what he did. Even though he let him live and keep his duty as Kingsguard, refusing to grant Eddard Stark’s request of sending him to the Wall, he could barely stand the sight of the man who stabbed the king he swore to protect in the back.

 

“Last time I was there,” she said quietly. “My father’s body was lying in the middle of the room, surrounded by knights and Silent Sisters.

\- I remember. Somehow the place seemed… Smaller, back then.

\- My father had this effect of making everything seem smaller around him.” She smirked. “Especially the people.

\- I did not know him well. I regret I…

\- He hated you. And you hated him for that.”

 

She looked up again. He regretted nothing. Jaime Lannister was a vain man. Handsome, strong, the embodiment of the white knight in a shining armour, but vain all the same. He was not Cersei Lannister’s brother for no reason. _Well, brother, I suppose he is more than that,_ she thought mockingly. He kept silent for a while and eventually scoffed. He climbed down a few more stairs and sat next to her, trying his best not to harm himself with the stiff plates of his armour.

She had never been so close to him before, mostly because she never tried to. _He looks older,_ she realized. _Older than before he left._ Whatever happened to him when the Starks imprisoned him took a toll on him. There were now thin wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead. His hair was cut short and was still ridiculously lush and golden but he looked more like his father now that he did not wear it long. But there was something else as well. The brash, arrogant and rash man she remembered seemed to have withered – there was a hardness in his eyes she never saw before. _That is what makes him look so much more like his father than before._

 

“Well, he did not like many people, did he?

\- He liked himself, I suppose. For a time he may have loved king Robert. He probably never stopped loving Eddard Stark, despite the years and the miles that separated them.” She shook her head. “But that may be all.

\- You were his daughter. He must have had some measures of love for you.

\- Would you say your father loves you and your siblings, Ser?” she asked, genuinely curious about his answer. “Or would you rather say he loves the concept of you and your siblings? The idea of having rather capable heirs?

\- Love is not something Tywin Lannister feels easily,” he smirked. “Are you really comparing Jon Arryn to Tywin Lannister, my Lady?

\- I guess I am?”

 

She chuckled with him. In this regard, she hardly saw any difference between Tywin Lannister and Jon Arryn. Their heirs were only means to an end, though their ends were different. Given that she had missed his end by a long shot, her father could hardly love her if he were still alive. _But then again, if he were still alive none of that would have happened._ Their laughter died as the full meaning of their conversation slowly sank in.

She had never realized how close her childhood and the Lannisters heirs were. No mother, just a distant and cold father with an agenda of his own. Sent to King’s Landing far too young for their sake, raised there amongst the schemes and the plots. They all lived through a war as they reached adulthood and came out of it changed, hardly for the best. A queen, a kingslayer and a traitress. _At least they had each other._ In a way she could barely fathom. She sighed and continued after a while.

 

“He is gone now, and it is for the best. He would not have stood for all this.

\- Our newly found peace?” he asked, returning to his brash self and cocky smile. “Our king’s glorious victory? That would have been quite ungrateful of him, given that the Vale was left completely untouched.

\- Lest you forget, you barely avoided the Wall after ending Robert Baratheon’s rebellion all by yourself. Ungratefulness was a common theme with him.

\- Ha, yes, my finest act. Well, he is neither the first nor the last to revile me for that, is he?

\- I once did,” she pointed out, thoughtful. “Do you blame me for that?

\- I blame no one for their hatred for me. Not everyone has my luck.” The joke sounded too flat, not genuine enough. “What about now, though? Has it changed?”

 

 _I am not sure._ What he did was unworthy of a knight, let alone of a Sworn Brother who swore to protect his king, that much had not changed. _She_ had. Her father could judge him, from the full height of his unwavering virtue, as well as Eddard Stark and the rest of the righteous people who would have done nothing of the sort if placed in the same position as he was. She once could judge as well. Could she, now, with the Stark blood barely dried on her hand, and Duskendale’s fate weighting on her mind? Could she truly judge a man for stabbing a madman in the back, effectively ending a war and probably preventing even more of a slaughter within the wall of the Red Keep? She had not prevented a slaughter herself – she had made it easier and quicker. She had no idea whether Stannis Baratheon was alive or dead, but she did also stab him in the back – or so he thought. The guilt she felt changed nothing of the outcome.

She remained silent for a while, trying to find the right way to put it all into words. Jaime Lannister and her were not friends. They were not allies, they were nothing. He would have risked her life, given the opportunities, only to please his sister and be done with a cumbersome goodmother. If anything, she had absolutely no reason to talk to him given that he was taking notes to refer them to his father once he would be back. She was really giving him the stick to beat her with, but she had no one else to share these thoughts with. She had no friends, no family, no one to express how guilty she felt for what happened, and how guilty she felt for not really regretting her choices. Mayhap it would all go straight to Tywin Lannister’s ears, but after all the man could care less about her inner conflicts as long as she kept to their agreement. At least… At least she would have tried to see clear in her own mind.

 

“I suppose I have no right to judge you anymore,” she simply sighed. “After everything I did.

\- You have done much in the last few months. If anything, you spared most of Stannis Baratheon’s fleet before we even remembered you existed.

\- I may have not stabbed anyone, but I have done quite a lot of things while you were gone.” She turned her head to look at him. “I kept Sansa Stark here, under the same roof as the man who abuses her every day, just to serve my own purpose. I helped your father better his plan for the Red Wedding to give the Boltons a stronger hold on the North. Duskendale burned because I told your father to use wildfire against Stannis Baratheon.” She scoffed, sombrely. “My sworn king.

\- A man who publically betrayed your fealty. And a very sorry king if you ask me, loved by none, feared by some and despised by most.

\- A righteous man nonetheless. Honourable as well, the kind of king my father would have fought for.” She chuckled and shook her head in disbelief. “So if anything what I did is worse than what you did. Aerys was neither of those things, he was just mad.”

 

His eyes instantly darkened when she uttered Aerys’ name. He looked away from her and stared at the altars in front of them. She wondered if he was reliving what happened this night, when his father’s men were storming the city and killing their way to the Red Keep. No one knew exactly what triggered him to kill his king and why they were so completely alone in the throne room. She always thought he might have realized there was no way he could win this war, and that killing him would buy him easy forgiveness from the king-to-be Robert Baratheon. _Which is exactly what I did when I accepted Tywin Lannister’s offer,_ she mused. She stabbed her king in the back to ensure she would be granted forgiveness for any past treason once the war over.

It was horrifying, haunting even, to realize how much of herself she had forsaken to survive. Olenna Tyrell was right – Jon Arryn did not raise a woman able to do such things. If only she could just say she had been forced, the way Tywin Lannister forced her to marry him to survive, things would have been easier. But she had not been forced. She could have refused, and she could have just accepted to be sent straight back to the Eyrie to finish her days there, forgotten of all, most of her honour and morals intact. But she did not. She wanted blood, she wanted war, she wanted the storm that drenched her wet, she wanted flames to tear down Stannis Baratheon – she still wanted it all. She did not regret them. But she saw what it all meant and it was terrifying. _I have gone so far, Gods, gone so far._

 

“Your mind must be a terrible place,” Jaime Lannister eventually said. “If you consider yourself a greater monster than this realm’s most renown monster.

\- Just because you are renowned does not mean you deserve it. What you did was just more obvious than what I did.

\- It really does not sound like Jon Arryn’s daughter to be wallowing in self-hatred.

\- There is not much left of his daughter now, is there? My father would hate me the way he hates you if he were still alive.

\- You said it yourself, he is gone. Better for you and me.” He paused and turned his head to her again. “I know what it means to cross every line they taught you not to approach. It takes some times, but you will see clear through them. You will understand that those lines they love, those oaths they make us swear betray each other. Your father lived by them all, I suppose, and now he is dead. That is all the good they did him.”

 

She stared back at him, right at his emerald eyes. There was a sincerity in them she had _never_ seen before in Lannister eyes and it was disarming. Somehow it felt like he had more to say about it, that there was more to the story than what she knew – but he did not add anything. He had no more reasons to talk to her than she had herself, after all, and he was Jaime Lannister. Whatever hidden depth there was to him, he was not going to reveal it all. _He already revealed too much,_ she mused. She almost felt like he had just shared a heavy secret of his, even if he ultimately said nothing. Not all secrets are words, though, and sometimes looks and silences mean a lot more than lengthy speeches.

So she nodded, slowly, because what he said made sense in a terrible way. Protect the Vale, protect your house, live up to your name, make sure that your line does not end with you, remain on the winning side of the war, live honourably, make all the right choices and none of the wrong ones, do no harm, act morally… One could not do all these things at once. She could not. If she had lived honourably, her line would have ended with her. If she had made no harm, her house and the Vale would have been under attack. She could not have remained on the winning side of the war if she acted morally and made every right choice. _The Seven Hells probably look like that,_ she realized. _A maze of choices, of promises that break themselves apart._

 

“I must sound ridiculous to you,” she scoffed, trying her best to smile. “Pouring my heart out to you who probably cannot care less about my moral dilemmas, when countless people died to end this war a few miles away from here.

\- Well, I must admit I never thought I would see you like that.” He shrugged, no mockery in his voice. “The great and cold Shara Arryn sitting on a sept’s stairs, trying to find a way to reconcile the ludicrous rigid upbringing she was given and what it takes to survive in the real world. Even if I wanted to tell the court no one would believe me.

\- I must be a really good liar, then,” she chuckled. “You are as well. Were you always this insightful or did the Starks rubbed off on you?

\- The only thing the Starks gave me was dirty water and stale bread. Maybe you just never realized how much of a deep thinker I am.

\- That is another thing no one would believe if I tried to spread it.”

 

They both laughed and shook their head. It echoed under the high ceilings of the Royal Sept, filling up the empty space around them until the sounds died and left them alone again, but smiling. They exchanged a glance and it felt like a promise they made to each other. No word on what happened here, from either of them. No word on the untold secrets they shared, whatever they could be. No word on the hidden weaknesses of the twice traitress – no word on the hidden torments of the knights in his shining armour. Time only would tell if he would keep that promise.

She was going to ask about his hand when they both heard tumults outside, sounds of people rushing to some place and calling everyone to do the same. She stood up and walked to the door immediately followed by Jaime. She opened it to see crowds of courtiers practically running to the stairs that led to the Traitor’s Walk. _What is…_ She walked away to let Jaime Lannister step out the sept and head straight to one of his fellow Kingsguard. They exchanged a few words before he returned to her with the usual smile on his lips. _Spell broken._

 

“Our armies are arriving, Lady Shara,” he announced her. “As well as your Lord husband.

\- Already? I thought they were not expected before sunset.

\- They must have walked faster than we thought. Would you care to follow me?”

 

She nodded, silently, and took the arm he offered her. The moment out of time and space they spent inside the Royal Sept was now over – the real world was calling. She was expected to welcome the generals and the high Lords with the rest of the royal family now, doubts and dilemmas left aside. It did not seem as hard as it did a few hours ago, though, as she made her way to the Red Keep’s inner court alongside Ser Jaime Lannister. _It will take some times, he said._ She glanced at him, remembering the tenuous gleam she had seen in his eyes as they were talking about their ghosts. _Then I will allow myself some times._

When they walked in sight of the royal family she raised her chin, straightened her posture and cast aside any lingering bitter feelings she still had. She gave herself more time when she accepted Tywin Lannister’s offer and she would make the most of it. And maybe, just maybe, she had just found an uncanny ally in the person of her goodson – in the person of the Kingslayer.


	9. And so he spoke, and so he spoke

Surprisingly enough, the welcoming of the vanguard and the generals was not as pompous as she expected. The troops simply entered King’s Landing and the Red Keep under the hurrahs of the crowds, laypeople and nobility alike, and only the main generals and the high Lords actually entered the inner court to be greeted by the royal family. The Lord Hand was the first to appear, immediately followed by Lord Mace Tyrell, his son Ser Loras and some of his highborn bannermen. They all looked weary, exhausted and absolutely not interested in any kind of lofty celebration so they were imposed none. They just received the frustrated congratulations of their king, who insisted _again_ that he wished he could have come to defend his kingdom alongside _some of the most brilliant knights of the century_. She barely managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. The century had just begun – it was not hard to be the most brilliant knights of the passed year.

No one listened to him. Tywin Lannister ordered the wounded to be taken care of and the rest of the troops to be fed, before he headed straight to the tower of the Hand. She remained beside little Tommen for a while, not really sure if she was supposed to follow or to simply go about her business. When she realized she was not going to receive any order, she simply waited for the queen to have left the court and headed to the Traitor’s Walk as well. Most of the courtiers, disappointed that nothing happened, had already left so she quickly found a spot near the crenels to observe the city underneath.

Most of the army remained outside the city’s walls, the way they did before they left for Duskendale. As far as the eye could see, the soldiers made some sort of a ribbon, walking in lines until they got close enough to King’s Landing to scatter inside the camp. Inside the city proper, there were only the highborn knights and their squires who were slowly making their way to the castle, as well as a carriage two horses were drawing. It looked like the kind of carriage Silent Sisters used to travel with bodies – the kind they used to take Jon Arryn’s bones to the Vale. _Is it him?_ She still did not know whether Stannis Baratheon had survived, had been taken alive or executed once the battle over, and no one seemed to know for sure. _Usually they put the prisoners first when they enter the city,_ she mused, _not behind._ Especially when the prisoner was supposed to be a king, even a fallen one.

 _He is dead._ Just like that, Stannis Baratheon was dead, without her ever getting the chance to talk to him one last time, if only just to gloat and witness the fall of such a man. _If only to understand exactly what happened._ The carriage continued its way until it reached the Red Keep as well, and disappeared under the walls. It did not appear on the other side and when she climbed down the stairs to the court she did not see it, as if it had disappeared or been taken elsewhere. When she understood she would not get any information by simply standing in the middle of the court, she headed back to the tower of the Hand and went straight to the Hand’s rooms.

She walked through the empty antechamber and entered the apartment proper. She found Tywin Lannister alone, on the other side of the screens, trying to get rid of his armour. He was struggling with the belts and buckles that tied his gauntlets and vambraces, and had already taken his pauldrons and couters off. He hardly noticed her presence until she walked past the screens. He stopped pulling on the leather bands and instantly frowned as if she had just made one step too far. She ignored his look and gestured his gauntlets.

 

“Why have you not called your squires?

\- The stupid lads I have been given are barely able to stand on their feet,” he mumbled. “I have no use of them.

\- Well, you still need some measure of help to take these off.” She reached for the buckles but he turned away before she even touched them. She sighed. “I can have them called, you know, and in this monstrosity you call an armour you could hardly stop me.

\- There is nothing you do that is not done out of sheer spite, is there?

\- Be glad my spite helped you win this war, my Lord, it could have done the exact contrary.”

 

She eyed him and reached for the buckles again. This time he did not turn away and let her untie the bands and put the gauntlets and the vambraces on the dressing table. He still had the breastplates and the plackart on, so unbuckled them as well and let him them off himself. Sometimes she wondered how strong men had to be to be able to wear this kind of things. _And fight in them,_ for those who did fight. Given how shiny and untouched Tywin’s armour was, she had little doubts he did not even come close to the actual battle.

She sat on the bed while he got rid of what remained of his armour. As old as he was, he was not as feeble as her father grew to become. She had no idea what kind of man he was, back when he was an actual knight fighting in actual wars, but there was a strength to him that was lost to most men of his age. Lord Mace was ten years younger but his stoutness made him look almost older than him. But it made sense, in a way – he could not hope to maintain his tight grip on the realm if he allowed himself to look weak, or actually old. People accepted his power before they feared him, not because of some ethereal sense of respect or nobility, and you do not fear old men.

 

“They say Duskendale burned to the ground,” she stated once he was done with his tasset and simply wearing plain clothes. “The walls, the city and the harbour alike.

 _\- They_ say a lot of things.

\- A lot of baseless rumours, indeed. Is it one of them?

\- It is not. Wildfire truly is a formidable weapon.

\- I may have been wrong, when I predicted this would be called the second Defiance.” She smiled when he darted her a look. “If I have a say in the decision, I would call that the Fires of Duskendale.”

 

 _That would make quite the song,_ she thought. He stared at her for a few seconds, as if trying to ascertain whether she was mocking him or being serious. _A little bit of both, I suppose._ Rains in the west, fires in the east, soon it would wind in the south and earthquake in the north – not that she would tell him. Tywin Lannister could not take this kind of joke and she did not feel necessary to try his weary patience now.

For a while he said nothing, his back turned on her while he grabbed a thick velvet robe in the closet to tie it around his waist. She saw his shoulders slightly slump as he took a deep breath. Any other man would have relaxed and enjoyed his victory, but there was no such thing as _relaxation_ for him. He just eased the physical tension between his shoulders – not the psychological one. After a while he turned to face her again and crossed his arms on his chest, stern as ever, but a tiny, amused light in his eyes.

 

“The Fires of Duskendale, really?

\- Second verse to the Rains of Castamere,” she shrugged, smirking. “Just as to remind the realm the lion has not grown old.

\- I do not think anyone doubted that.

\- Well now it is certain.” She paused, thinking about what the lines could be. “And who are you, the Stag king said, that I must bow so low? Only a Lion that has grown old, that’s all the truth I know. In a coat of black or a coat of red, your king is but a sham, no blood of mine I see in him and by the flames he’ll die.

\- He was never a king,” he retorted, his frown now severe. The light has not disappeared. “Be very careful, my Lady. My good mood may just vanish.

\- And so he spoke, and so he spoke,” she continued, still smiling. “That Stag of Dragonstone, but now the flames run through his men with no one left to fight. Yes the green flames ran through his men and left no one to fight.”

 

Silence followed. For a while there was no single noise between them, no word, no breath, nothing but the two of them staring at each other. He never smiled, of course, and never smirked either. Still, the tenuous gleam in his eyes did not disappear and there was more challenge in his attitude than threat. _Silence never scared me,_ she thought, victorious. It could last an entire day, for all she cared.

Of course she was not there to sing or write lyrics, she had a very precise question that demanded a very precise answer. Her smile and supposedly good mood did not change anything to the fact that she dreaded to hear it. Even if Jaime Lannister was right, even if all she needed was some times to see clear through her choices, wrong and right, she knew she would not find closure if she did not talk to him _one last time._ Face him. Look at him and see him for what he truly was. If he were dead then… Then she was not certain closure was something she would find. 

Once he was done trying to get her to feel uncomfortable, he left the bedroom corner and headed to his desk to empty an envelope on the table. There were more parchments than there was when he left, but they were probably just revised battle plans so she could hardly care. She did not follow him and remained seated on the bed, looking at herself in the dressing table’s mirror. Nothing on her face betrayed how conflicted she felt – if anything, she looked more confident than she hoped to.

 

“Surely you must need something,” she heard after a while. “Otherwise you would have remained in the gardens.

\- It is dark outside, and there is not much to do except listening to the courtiers’ senseless blabbering. What do you think I did for two full weeks?

\- I have not received Ser Jaime’s report yet, so I can only presume you made the most of my absence. How many convoluted schemes have you fomented?

\- None, really,” she stood up and walked to the screens to be able to see him. “But Ser Jaime shall tell you so.

\- Still you are not here without reasons.”

 

She hated to admit he was right, but she had to ask. She took a deep breath and eventually nodded when he looked at her. He stopped rummaging in his papers and waited for her to talk.

 

“Is Stannis Baratheon alive?

\- It did take you longer than I thought it would,” he smirked. “Why would you care?

\- I want to talk to him.

\- Even if he were indeed still alive, do you really believe I will allow that?

\- I am not asking for your permission, my Lord.” She frowned, her voice suddenly cold again. The time for pleasantries and song was over. “If he is alive, I will talk to him.

\- Will you, now? How rash of you. Your status here is still fragile, Lady Shara. Be sure not to forget that.

\- Is he alive?”

 

 _He is._ This conversation would not have happened if he were not. He would have just told her, enjoyed her painful reaction and be done with it. _I just need to find a way to enter the gaols._ It would not be so complicated, she had a first-hand experience of the cells. She would not go as far as ask Jaime Lannister for help, for she was rather certain his newly found interest in her was not nearly enough to justify going against his father’s express orders, but there were other guards to bribe or convince.

 

“He is. His lowborn Hand convinced him to yield when he understood there would soon be no men left to fight, as you put it so graciously.

\- Will I have to plot and scheme to enter the gaols, or will you let me in?

\- Gloating is quite vulgar, especially for a woman who thinks so highly of herself.” He crossed his arms on his chest, far too entertained for her liking. “And I do not trust you to serve any other purposes than yours in these matters.

\- You do not trust me to serve any other purposes than mine in all matters anyway. You owe me this.

\- Owe you? I owe you?” He scoffed. “Being you must be fantastic. You really think the entire world owes you, do you? If anything, Lady Shara Arryn, you owe Your life, your status and your future.”

 

 _Blablabla_. She did not even listen to him – all she heard was _Shara Arryn_ , and she suddenly realized he never called her differently. He was the only one to call her by her one true name while the entire realm already called her Lannister. She smirked and scoffed as well, and he interpreted it as spite and anger when in fact it was amusement. Because it could mean either one of two things: perhaps he did not consider her a Lannister, and would never, or perhaps he simply did not consider her anything but an Arryn, and would never. In both cases, he who was so eager to destroy what she used to be was the only one to remember who she truly was. _Hilarious._

 

“Think what you will, there is no point in discussing whom owes who,” she sneered. “I want to know who told Stannis Baratheon what I did for you.

\- So you can then proceed to get rid of this person?

\- Perhaps, or perhaps not, depends on who this person is. In any case, there is hardly anything I can do without you knowing.” _No need to pretend otherwise._ “I would hate to have to lie to my _Lord husband._

\- Spare me this, will you? This would neither be the first nor the last of your lies.

\- Then let me talk to him. Anything I shall obtain from him will be yours to know.”

 

 _If there is any interest for me to tell you,_ she did not add, but that was the underlying meaning he could not ignore. She was not even sure she would obtain anything from him, if not insults and scorn, but anger was not Stannis Baratheon’s forte anyway – his presence in the Red Keep’s cells was a proof, if anything. Tywin Lannister was going to reply when they both heard knockings on the door. He frowned, ordered whoever knocked to enter and she saw none else than Jaime Lannister step inside the room. He froze when he saw her and eyed his father when he sensed the tension between the two of them. Said father gestured him to come to his desk.

So did the son, stiffly. She watched him. He was holding an envelope, probably the report the Hand asked him to make on her daily activities. It was unsurprisingly thin, there were no more than three or four pages inside the envelope. She crossed her arms on her chest and waited for the order to leave the room.

 

“The report you asked for,” Ser Jaime said. “Though I am afraid this will not be much of a read.

\- Then just make your report and spare me the read.

\- Now?” He darted her a glance, unsure of what he was supposed to do. “Mayhap you would want Lady Shara to…

\- She is the subject of your report, is she not?” Tywin Lannister interrupted him, his eyes on her as well. “Nothing of what you may say should surprise her.

\- I suppose not.”

 

She shrugged. She knew exactly what she had done these last two weeks: nothing at all. She had sent a few letters to Lord Royce, now that she was mostly free to exchange missives with him and spent most of her days with the Tyrells. Except for this precise afternoon and except for the time she spent with Olenna Tyrell, there was literally nothing Jaime Lannister could say about her.

And nothing is exactly what he said. He mentioned the afternoons spent with the Lady Margaery, those she spent in her room, the letters she exchanged with the Vale, and the little time he had no idea what she did but probably not much. When pressed to answer, he admitted he had read a few of the letters she received and sent, but stopped when he understood it only had to do with the Vale’s internal affairs and stocks of grain. He shot her an apologetic glance, to which she did not answer. He was not sorry and neither was she.

Tywin Lannister never looked away from her while his son tried his best to detail the nothingness of her life. There was no fool in the room, though Jaime Lannister could not be considered as bright as his father – everyone knew that none of this looked like two weeks in her life. When silence returned, she stared back at him. There was no disappointment in his eyes, and no satisfaction either. He simply seemed not to be surprised by anything his son told him.

 

“Very well. Is there anything you would like to add, Ser?

\- Not about your Lady wife, no.

\- Then about what?” His eyes moved away from her to fall on his son. “Or whom?

\- About Cer… About Her grace. Mayhap you would want to talk to her. Lady Shara was quite right when she warned you about her enmity.

\- Nonsense,” he snapped back. “Cersei will behave. I shall see to that.

\- Hopefully you shall see to that better than you did for His majesty and his former betrothed.”

 

 _Oops. Sensitive?_ She did not flinch when the two pairs of eyes fell on her again. She knew that orders had been given to Joffrey’s entourage to stop him from tormenting Sansa Stark, but it very clearly did not stop him from very much doing so. She raised an eyebrow when they both frowned and eyed Jaime. It was nowhere near new that the king was uncontrollable when his cruelty was involved, and hardly anyone ignored that his behaviour had grown even worse while his grandfather was waging his war – especially the Kingsguard. When Tywin turned to him, he simply nodded. The Hand frowned even deeper.

 

“And you did not see fit to stop him?

\- Her grace…

\- Indeed needs to be reminded of her duties.” His disappointment was now obvious – overwhelming, even. “And you as well. Let her know I shall be at her chambers in an hours. You will be there too.

\- Do I need to tell His majesty…

\- A child needs his rest. Do not wake him.”

 

She refrained from grinning and watched Ser Jaime Lannister piteously bowing and leaving the room. When she was younger she regretted she did not have more of a family around her, brothers and sisters to keep her company and share memories with – now she understood how lucky she was not to have much family left. When the door closed again, she saw the Hand frown again, jaw gritted, while sorting his papers and placing them on different piles.

 _How frustrating that must be,_ she mused. To have won a war for his children and be ever disappointed in everything they did, every decision they made. _You cannot win every each of your battles, I suppose._ Tywin Lannister lose his children battles, all three of them. There was no surprise he wanted to keep her and her youth nearby; now that he realized how lost his dear house would be if left to his current heirs, he obviously wanted more of them. That was her leverage on him and the main reason why he had not already sent her to rot somewhere in the West or in the Vale. _That and my mind._

 

“I never thought I would ever be the most obedient of your Lannisters,” she commented after a while. “Who would have thought?

\- That is enough wits for tonight, my Lady. The fact that my son did not see your tricks does not mean they did not happen.

\- Well, if you want to know about them you only have to ask.” She shrugged. “I am not asking for much in return.”

 

She wondered for a second if her entire life would be like this: barter something for something else, negotiate everything and eventually obtain them in exchange for other things. It was the ways of the world, obviously, and she was more comfortable in this kind of relationship than she was when the prices were hidden.

Once done with his papers he stood up straight again and walked to the bedroom part of the room to grab a leather coat and put it on. She walked to the desk and grabbed the Hand insignia he had either forgotten to take or left there on purpose. The metal was cold under her fingers and it was heavier than she thought. She never got to ever touch it, even when her father was Hand. He wore it all day long, and probably kept it close when he slept. She never saw it placed on his desk and did not remember him not wearing it, except in her farthest memories of the Eyrie. _People are right when they say he ended up believing his true name was Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale, Hand of the king Robert Baratheon._

She turned when she heard Tywin Lannister’s steps behind her and held the insignia out to him. He did not take it for a few seconds, but eventually grabbed it and pinned it on his chest. _It has an ominous look to it when he wears it,_ she thought. She guessed it was because he did not need it to appear powerful. It was just one more proof of his power, not the unique sign of it. It was a weapon for him – not a title.

 

“Was it always this heavy?” she asked lightly. “On my father it seemed… Smaller.

 _\- Power_ is heavy. This is just a token.

\- For you it is.” She smirked. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown, they say, though your royal grandson’s seems quite light to me. Will he thank you for winning his war?

\- If I ever waited for congratulations and acknowledgements to win wars, the realm would be in a direr state than it already is,” Tywin snapped back. “Do you really think a crown gives you power?

\- No, of course not, otherwise you would not only be wearing the ghost of one.”

She smiled even wider. He narrowed his eyes and remained silent for a few seconds. _I can see a crown when I see one._ The insignia on his chest was one of the many jewels on the crown he had been wearing for decades. There was hardly any difference between Aerys the Mad and the so-called king Joffrey Baratheon – in both cases, the same man wore the one true crown and wielded the one true power. _All things considered, I suppose being on the winning side of the war has its perks,_ she mused. She could make do with the shadow of a crown as well, if he ever was so inclined as to give it to her. _I can make it happen. Sooner or later._ For now all he gave her was the shadow of a smirk while he arranged his collar.

 

“I will instruct Grand Maester Pycelle to write down the content of our agreement,” he continued, seemingly ignoring what she had just said. “It shall be done by tomorrow evening.

\- Very well.

\- As for the prisoner…” He paused, arranging himself a bit of suspense. “You shall see him tomorrow morning. You will have an hour and you will be watched.

\- Maybe choose someone else than your son for that,” she smiled, victoriously. “Just in case there are some tricks involved.

\- We shall talk about these tricks of yours afterward.

\- Of course. Always glad to do business with you.”

 

He frowned but she saw the light in his eyes shimmer before he left the room. _And that is a win._


	10. Who will call you king?

She barely slept at all. She waited for the Hand to have left the room to immediately jump on her feet and call her maid for her breakfast. It took her some time to arrive, as it was very early in the day, but she did come. While she ate, she asked to fetch a dress in the closet. _I have an important meeting this morning,_ she said. _Find something suitable._ Not that it mattered a lot. It was dark in the cells, and whatever she wore Stannis Baratheon would not only not care about but also would not see it. It was just a matter of pride, as it always was.

She was restless, unable to decide whether she was impatient or scared by what she would find down there. Tywin Lannister had left no instructions for her to follow, he had just left at dawn. She guessed someone would come to take her to the fallen king’s cell and take her back to her room when the hour would be over. _An hour might be too much,_ she mused thoughtfully as she let her maid comb her hair. _He might just refuse to talk, after all._

She returned to her room once dressed, and decided to reply to Lord Royce’s last letter to wait for the _someone_ Tywin would have chosen to watch her to come. The Vale’s granaries were full, and he was asking her the permission to claim a lesser part of the peasant’s crops until winter indeed came. She was inclined to give him his permission, but then again she was worried about the state of the other lands’ reserves. She knew the Reach was making the most of the intense waves of heat, but the Riverlands had been pillaged and ravaged during the war. The North could hardly provide food for itself during summertime, so there was nothing to hope for in this regard, and farming neither the Westerlands nor the Stormlands’ forte although their fields could be fertile. King’s Landing had been stocking food for quite a while now, but it would not last long if people suddenly rushed through the city’s gates. _The realm is going to live on the Reach and the Vale’s reserves,_ she thought, her quill in her hand. Maybe her granaries were full, but it was the case of the other lands’. She could accept to demand less of their grains to her peasants, but once winter here there would be no more grains to stock – but still more mouths to feed, outside the Vale’s mountains.

 _I cannot._ Short-term solutions were no solutions at all. _Lord Royce,_ she wrote, biting her lower lips. _I am greatly satisfied to hear that our reserves are now full. However I cannot lower the levy we demand from the peasants. I understand that they may not understand this decision but once winter on our realm, there will no crops to harvest anymore. The realm needs full granaries everywhere, not just within our borders. You will see that our granaries are filled to the brim and advise me when there is truly no barns, no attics left to fill – I shall find a way to redirect our crops to other reserves, perhaps the Riverlands if they have any granaries left._ She stopped writing and looked at the parchment. Her father initiated the high levy on the peasants’ crops and decided to dramatically lower the Vale’s food trades with the rest of the realm, in anticipation of the coming winter. She had just continued to collect food the way he did. She sighed and ran a hand across her face. She needed to go back to the Vale, at some point. Her people had not seen her in years and they may stop complying with her orders if she did not indulge in their needs to see their liege lady. Lord Nestor Royce was a dutiful, loyal man but he was not an Arryn. _Once His majesty’s wedding is over, I shall journey to the Vale. I wish to see the Eyrie once again before we have to close the castle and move the household to the Gates of the Moon. We have much to discuss in person as well._ She quickly signed the missive, folded it and sealed it with wax. She had not been given back her Arryn seal and she had never been given any other ring to seal her letters with, so she made do.

The seal had just hardened when her door opened. She rose from her seat and recognized Ser Balon Swann, a rather newly appointed member of the Kingsguard. She greeted him politely, rather surprised to see him. _So instead of his son or any other of the castle’s guard,_ she thought. _Tywin Lannister chose burly Balon Swann to report on my behaviour?_ She was not certain the man would be more perceptive than his Sworn Brother, but at least he was no common guard.

 

“Ser Balon,” she smiled. “I believe my Lord husband sent you?

\- He did. I am to take you to Stannis Baratheon’s cell and…

\- Watch me for an hour. I know, he told me.” The knight, surprised, said nothing for a while. She raised an eyebrow. “Well? Shall we go?

\- Yes, of course my Lady. Please, follow me.”

 

She grabbed her letter on her desk and followed him indeed. She kept her chin high as she headed straight to the door that led down to the cells underneath the Keep. Ser Balon talked to the guards for a second, gave them a letter Tywin probably wrote, and they entered. Being there once again sent shivers down her spine, as well as the foul smell that immediately beset her. It took her a while before her eyes got used to the dimly lit corridors again and she simply followed the knight while he guided her. Most of the cells she walked past were occupied – Stannis’ men, she imagined, though she did not check.

She gulped when she walked past the cell she had been thrown in. Not that it was any different from the others, of course, but it was placed at the corner of the main corridor. She remembered Tywin Lannister as he stood tall against this corner, his shining emerald eyes planted in hers; she remembered the way he looked so much taller this way, lighted only the torch fixed on the wall. This cell she did not look away from – it was empty. _On purpose,_ she thought. Nothing the Hand of the king did was not on purpose. _This is where I could have ended up again, if I had made the wrong choice._ She refrained from shivering again.

 

“Lady Arryn?” she heard, suddenly torn away from her thoughts. “Is that you?”

 

She froze in her walk and turned to nearest cell. A man was standing near the bars, slight and shadowed. _Davos Seaworth,_ she recognized as she walked closer. The torches’ light prevented her from seeing much of him, but he did not look wounded or hurt – just dirty. And tired. He was staring right at her, visibly dumbfounded.

 

“What are you doing here?

\- I have obtained the right to visit…” She bit her lower lips. “Lord Stannis Baratheon.

\- He will not say anything to you, my Lady. He knows about…

\- I know,” she interrupted him, unwilling to hear it all again. “Or rather, I know that he jumped to the wrong conclusion and lost a mighty ally in the process.

\- Are you saying you have not done what we have been told?”

 

Surprisingly enough, there was no judgement in his voice. Just curiosity and a heavy dose of exhaustion. She looked at Balon Swann behind her and nodded when he frowned. _I need not an hour with Stannis if I can talk to his Hand,_ she thought. Ser Davos was notoriously more reasonable than his Lord, and less inclined to sacrifice himself for no reason. The way he looked at here said that much. She felt the usual knots in her throat when she tried to come up with a good answer to his question, but dismissed it immediately. It was getting easier and easier to shrug off the pain, she noticed. Maybe one day there would not be pain anymore. She lowered her voice and walked even closer to make sure the other prisoners would not hear. As for the Sworn Brother who remained behind her, she cared not if he could hear – Tywin Lannister ignored none of what she would say.

 

“Everything I did, I did for Stannis Baratheon,” she said, emotionless. “Every decision I took, every step I made were going to make his victory easier. I know not who informed you, but you should have known…

\- I told him there had to be a reason behind your actions.” Davos’ face was distorted with regrets now, as if he knew exactly what she was going to say. “But he refused to listen.

\- It will be the last of his mistake, then.

\- I suppose it will.”

 

She kept silent for a while as she detailed the man in front of her. He looked defeated, completely and utterly. _He is going to be executed as well,_ she thought. As Stannis Baratheon’s Hand, he could hardly hope to escape the punishment. Loyalty was going to kill him the way it already killed many good men; his only sin was to have chosen the wrong man to be loyal to. But he was a reasonable man, honest and unfit for this kind of wars – he may turn to be more insightful than his master. _I may find a way to spare his life._ Not that it would change anything in the long run, but Davos did not betray her, did not wrong her and did not deserve the same punishment as the man who actually did those two things. She took a deep breath and continued.

 

“Have they told you what is going to happen to you?

\- No, but they did not have to. I know that I will not leave this city with my head on my shoulders.

\- There may be a way for you to survive, Ser,” she carefully said. “I may find a way.

\- Why would you do that? They say you helped the Lannisters, that it was your plan to burn us all alive.

\- Even so, I could help you.” She gritted her teeth. “You just need to help me in return.

\- So that you would feel better destroying your former king?”

 

She did not answer that. She did not have to explain herself – she had no reason to do that anymore. There was hardly anything left of her conscience anyway, she was just trying to salvage the tiniest part of it that remained. _I could live without them,_ she mused bitterly. _They never did me any good until now._ She also knew that there was very little chance Stannis would actually tell her who changed his mind about her, and a little more Davos would if correctly prompted to. It was the only thing she wanted, whatever the price could be.

 

“So that you would be able to keep your lands, pass them to your sons and protect your wife from further harm.

\- You cannot do that. You have no more power here than I do.

\- I have a very powerful husband who may decide to listen to me if you prove useful,” she retorted, now cold as ice. “And even if he refused, at least you would have a chance to save your family. Say nothing and you may as well mourn them already.

\- Were you always like that, or did the king’s decision hardened and made a stone out of you?

\- Who knows? Perhaps my hardened and stony heart would have won this war for him, had he not been this stupid.” She raised her chin. “Answer this, Ser Davos, and you have my word that I shall try my best to spare your life. Who whispered in Stannis Baratheon’s ears?”

 

Silence lingered for a while, just enough for a man like Davos Seaworth to weigh the pros and cons and to decide whether it was better to anger her or to somehow get in her good books. She herself was not certain Tywin would even do as little as listen to her regarding his execution, but she would try. If nothing else, she would try. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and rested his head against the bars. As she stared at him it felt like staring at herself, at her own despair at the idea of forsaking everything she had always believed in, everything she had lived by. _But Davos Seaworth is a better man than I am,_ she thought. Her despair would never quite vanish but she managed to cast it aside. She was not certain he could.

 

“My life is not worth much to me,” he eventually said. “Save it if you want, but I want my family to be safe from harm. The decisions I made have nothing to do with them. My wife…

\- The decisions we make have everything to do with those we wish to protect, Ser. But I will do my best.

\- You were loyal to him once, you know why I still am. Why I cannot... Just betray him.

\- Do not make the same mistake he made. I shall find out, with or without you, who convinced Stannis Baratheon that I was not to be trusted anymore.” She was growing impatient and was not going to hide it. “What I offer you is a way out of this cell, at the Wall, with the assurance that those you love are safe. Leave it or take it, but my time is limited and I will not…

\- Petyr Baelish, my Lady. He came by before sailing north on his mission for your… Husband.”

_Why of course._ It should have been obvious from the start that it was him – it had his name all over it. She gulped and slowly nodded. She could not tell yet what purpose this served, but she would find out, sooner or later. She still ignored what his mission was, to start with. _The stupid bird will not bother me long._ She eyed Ser Balon, as to get him to understand that she cared not if he reported that, and returned to Davos Seaworth. He looked ashamed, terribly ashamed, and afraid as well. _What I just did was unfair,_ she mused. _But necessary._ He would forgive her if she managed to spare him the chopping block and she would forgive herself as soon as she would see Petyr Baelish’s head on the floor.

 

“Thank you, Ser Davos,” she peacefully said. “I will make sure the Hand of the king knows you have been very helpful.

\- What will you do with this information? Destroy him the way you destroyed your king?

\- Probably, but that is none of your concern.” She turned away and started to walk away. She stopped after a few steps. “You will have to renounce him if you hope to be offered the Wall instead of the block. Get ready for that.”

 

She did not wait for him to say anything and continued her walk to the other end of the cells. Now that she had the only information she was seeking, she could go talk to Stannis without expecting anything. Tywin Lannister was right when he said gloating is vulgar, but she could hardly care less – maybe vulgar was exactly what she wanted to be now. _He believed Petyr Baelish instead of trusting me,_ she thought. _He heeded his words and not his own Hand’s._ If he refused to even listen to Davos Seaworth, then it meant one thing and one thing only: he was expecting her to turn against him at some point, and all Petyr Baelish did was confirm his expectations. Maybe he did not believe everything he told him, but even half of it was enough in his rigid mind to confirm what he was certain would happen at some point. _So much for his unwaivering trust in the Arryn blood._ So much for her unwaivering trust in him.

For a while they only walked past empty cells, until they reached the very end of the corridor. There was one cell there, facing whoever was walking. And he was inside – she recognized his figure. He was standing in the middle of the cell, rigid and still like a piece of iron. Ser Balon Swann stopped a few feet away from the bars and gestured her to go. _You have half an hour left,_ he simply said. It was more than enough time.

 

She slowly walked to the bars, her heart beating desperately slow. She feared she might be scared of him, or lose her confidence once in front of him. But even when she was close enough to see the details of his face and fully recognize the man, she felt nothing. No anger. No sadness. No fear. Nothing. The only thought in her mind when his eyes started to burn was how harmless he looked behind those bars, like some stern-looking child locked in his room after a tantrum. _Was he always like this?_ Was he always this unimpressive?

 

“Lord Stannis,” she said once close enough. “It has been quite a while since the last time we saw each other.” He said nothing. Not a word. “An even greater while since I last saw these cells. Quite uncomfortable they are, are they not?” Nothing. Just the flames in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. “Of course you know why I was there, a few months ago. I was ready to give my life if it meant furthering your claim to the throne.” She scoffed. “I thought I was so clever, spying for you with no one knowing, but you played me. A masterstroke, really, worthy of Tywin Lannister himself.

\- You will not utter this name here,” he hissed furiously. “You will not utter another one of your treacherous words.

\- Treacherous? Why, my Lord, you are the treacherous one here. In the first letters we exchanged I promised that I would do what it takes to crown you king.” She made one more step toward the bars. Hearing his voice just awoken the hatred and anger she had buried deep in her chest. “And thus I did. To thank me for that, you betrayed me.

\- You married the Lannister traitor. You made sure the Stark girl remained in his claws and arranged the slaughtering of the rest of them.” He was groaning, his voice low and almost feral. She had never heard him talk this way. “And you dare say you did that for me?

\- Yes, I do.”

 

The nothingness in her mind was no more – suddenly she was back to these five dark days she spent alone in her room, and blood, violence and death was all she could think about. _His_ blood, _his_ death, violence against _him_ was everything she could think of. He was pathetic, groaning because he could not bite anymore, and the growl of his voice sounded more like a whimper than like a scream. He could not harm her anymore – he never could. She chuckled lowly and walked to the bars herself. He did not move. _You ridiculous, stupid man,_ she wanted to scream at his face. _You were never made to be king. You were never made to be anything._

If he had been closer she would have clawed at his face until there was nothing left of his stern, stone face. If she had had a knife she would have stabbed him over and over until there was nothing left of him but blood and gore. But none of that was possible, so she would not satisfy her bloodlust. She smirked and shook her head.

 

“Marrying Tywin Lannister ensured that I would live and be free enough to work _for you_. Sansa Stark had to remain unwed _for you_ to have leverage on the North, once her freed from the Lannisters. The Red Wedding could not be avoided, Robb Stark had to be killed, but the North could at least remained united so that _you_ could win them over once the Boltons smoked out.” She scoffed again. “But of course you were not nearly smart enough to understand any of this and when the Baelish traitor came you listened to his lies instead of trusting your most faithful ally.

\- Nothing you say can be trusted, you perfidious woman. Your father…

\- You will not speak of my father,” she roared. The voices they still heard from the faraway cells immediately quieted. “He was foolish enough to see a king in you and I was foolish enough to trust his judgement. Now he is dead and soon, so will you.

\- You were not raised to kill, betray and plot your way to the throne. Your father saw his one true heir in you, recommended you to me and deemed you trustworthy. Perhaps he was foolish, indeed, to see a good woman in you.”

 

She froze for a second. She had no idea – she did not know her father ever mentioned her in the letters he exchanged with Stannis, before he died. _He never said anything._ For a second, just a second, she felt her anger falter, her confidence wither and she feared she might collapse in front of the cell. _Gods, did he really trust me this much?_ When she tried to take a breath, it remained stuck in her throat. Of course Stannis Baratheon saw none of that, thick as he was. The flames in his eyes were still burning harder than the wildfire that ate up his armies. And for a second, she thought she might fall on her knees and beg for his pardon. For a second, she felt like Shara Arryn again, weak, defenceless, on the other side of the bars, her mind full of hopes that her king might succeed. The usual thoughts in her head stopped revolving around, replaced by a deafening silence. For as long as it lasted, her thirst for blood subsided and she felt like a child again, craving for forgiveness from men who hardly noticed her.

 _It does not matter._ She closed her eyes, pushed her lids together tight enough to almost make herself cry. Her father was dead, gone, stripped of his flesh and buried. Whatever he saw in her stopped mattering when he left her alone in the awful world he contributed to create. Perhaps he raised her not to kill, betray and plot, but then he raised her to die the way _he_ died. _He raised me for Stannis Baratheon to betray my faith in him._ All her father ever did was putting her in the middle of the war, without the weapons to defend herself. She found the weapons. _A dead man cannot judge me for the way I survived._ And she would not let Stannis use her father against her – no one would ever use him against her anymore. She was alive and he was dead. She had won and he had lost. Treachery and chaos won the war – honour and order lost it.

When she opened her eyes again, all she felt was anger, disgust and pity again. Any trace of the sudden fist of sadness, despair and weakness were gone. He would not win this battle. She was free, she was powerful and she would remain so for years and years to come. So she chuckled again, longer than before, and she shook her head. She stared at him with as much mockery as she could. She saw him for what he really was now: a dull, stupid and rigid man with no mind of his own. A terrible king. A conquered one.

 

“You keep telling that to yourself when your head is on the chopping block,” she hissed, her voice venomous. “That I am a monster, that I murdered and betrayed everyone around me, and that you are the righteous one. You keep telling that to yourself, maybe you will forget that death is all that awaits. I will not look away from your head when it falls on the ground.

\- The Lannisters have made you their own. You will fare well amongst their villainy and abominations.” His face was distorted with disgust and frustration. “Will you start bedding your brother before or after birthing more of these degenerates?

\- Look at yourself. Listen to yourself.” She smirked cruelly. “To think I would have made you a king.”

 

None of his words touched her anymore. She turned her head to Balon Swann and nodded. He eyed Stannis Baratheon and turned to the other end of the corridor. _I am done with you,_ she thought. _I should have done that months ago._ She looked at him one last time, carving his defeated face, his pathetic anger in her eyes so that she would never forget how unworthy he was. So that, in times of doubts, she would remember him for what he truly was and not for what she prayed he would be. The only thing she wanted now was him dead at her feet. Time would do the rest.

When she turned to walk away, she heard him rush to the bars as to grab her. He did not have the time. She did not turn to look at him, she walked away, slowly, deliberately, knowing that it was more than he could ever do now.

 

“The Lord of Light curse you, whore! You will pay for that you did against the only rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms,” she heard behind her. She closed her eyes but continued walking. “He will strike you down! His flames will tear down your pride and into ashes you shall fall!

\- Much like they did to you.”

 

She only whispered these words, knowing full well he would hear them. Ser Balon darted a glance at her but she told him to continue walking. She walked past the cells without a look at them, and when she stepped outside she welcomed the sun and the fresh air like a rebirth. She stopped for a full minute, her eyes closed and a smile on her lips. _I entered as Shara Arryn,_ she thought. _And stepped out as Shara Lannister._ All hail.


	11. Arm ourselves with the wrongs we've done

She remained outside the tower of the Hand for most of the day, enjoying the sun in a way she did not for months – knowing that she was free to leave this cesspool of a castle for the first time in months, and knowing that it would not be Stannis’ case. She promised herself she would not regret any of this, not anymore, not ever again. After all, in a convoluted way, she ended up exactly where she wanted to be: close to the throne. It would not be harder to whisper in Tywin Lannister’s ear than it would have been to whisper in righteous, rigid Stannis Baratheon; it would not be harder to be married to him than to be married to some other lesser Lord.

No plan had been made for his execution for now but that really did not mattered for most. Every Ladies and Lords were wondering _when_ the celebrations for the end of the war would begin. _We waited for so long,_ they said, as if they had fought themselves. _Now we need to celebrate it!_ She struggled against herself not to roll her eyes and mock them, but they were not exactly wrong: even Tywin Lannister could not delay the inevitable. As some point, they would throw ridiculous balls and tourneys to signify how much the crown _did not_ lose in the war. 

She was discussing the tourneys with a very unconcerned Loras Tyrell when every voice around them quieted. A second later, men were on their knees and women were graciously curtsying – and so did she, when she realized why exactly the gardens had stopped breathing. The king himself, the Lady Margaery and queen Cersei had appeared and were now walking in silence amongst the courtiers. Beautiful and gentle Margaery Tyrell told everyone to stand up at some point and the tension in the air slightly subsided. She quickly glanced at the queen mother. She was stiffer than ever, her hand joined and hidden by her long sleeves as she walked on her son’s left side. _Well well,_ she mused. _Looks like someone is not enjoying their stroll in the gardens._ On his other side, the future queen looked positively radiant, as she always did.

When she noticed her beloved brother, she pulled her husband-to-be and almost dragged him where they both stood, apart from the rest of the noble crowd. Shara curtsied again, a bit deeper to ensure Cersei would not berate her, and rose when asked to.

 

“Such a magnificent day it is,” Margaery said, all smiles. “Is it not brother?

\- It surely is. We were just discussing how to celebrate our armies’ victory.” He turned his head to her as she nodded politely. “We were thinking about a great tourney. It has been long since the crown last organized one.

\- What a splendid idea indeed. What do you think, my love?

\- Lest you forget, Ser, we organized a tourney last year.”

 

Cersei Lannister’s stern voice once again made every one around her quiet. Shara saw Margaery Tyrell flinch, but it hardly lasted a second before her smile grew even wider. _Then we shall make it bigger and greater,_ she declared. King Joffrey assured her it would indeed be quite the sight to behold, and that the entire realm would be invited of course. She could not help thinking about the dire state of the crown’s finances. _This is not going to help at all._ Hopefully they would get the Tyrells to pay for it.

For a while she said nothing, she simply listened to the useless blabbering of the young and beautiful people around her. She could care less about the tourney, and she could care less about the wedding – apparently it would happen in two days. But the more she appeared amongst the Tyrells, the lesser Cersei Lannister would be eager to attempt to her life. Too much damage to her own already damaged reputation.

 

“Lady Shara,” the queen mother suddenly said, after remained silent for as long as she did. “What do you think about the Lady Margaery’s project?

\- A tourney would be marvellous, your grace. I would gladly have some of the Vale knights come to compete.

\- Well, that would be quite inappropriate, would it not?” Shara frowned, noticing the cruel gleam in Cersei’s eyes. “Inviting renegade knights to the victory tourney.

\- Renegade, your majesty?

\- So you have not been told.”

 

 _Been told what?_ She tried her best not to appear worried or concerned by whatever the queen was trying to hide, but she could not shake off the dreadful foreboding she suddenly had. Neither Loras nor Margaery seemed to know either – the way they stared at the queen mother hardly left any doubt in the matter. As for the king, well, he did not seem to care at all. _He does not know anything his Hand does not want him to know,_ she thought. But then again, why would Cersei something he would not know himself?

She forced a gracious smile and shook her head. Cersei Lannister’s grin grew wider. _She is loving every second of it._ The whole time her silence lasted, Shara’s brain was working at full tilt, trying to understand what it all could mean. The Vale has never rebelled against the crown, not openly at least – she had made sure of it. Nestor Royce’s last letter had been sent a week ago, but he mentioned no revolt of any sort. _Then what?_

 

“Her grace is obviously not saying that the Vale rebelled against the crown?” Margaery tried, staring at her brother as if telling him to keep quiet from now on. “Lady Shara would know if such thing…

\- Not against the crown, of course.” Cersei’s venomous eyes did not leave _her_. Live a snake ready to bite. “I am surprised the Lord Hand did not see fit to inform you.

\- I suppose he did not have the time, as he has just returned from Duskendale.

\- He has much more important things to do, of course,” she nodded. She paused again. It took every amount of control Shara has on herself not to jump at her throat. “Well, then, you should know that following his wedding to your goodmother, Petyr Baelish called the Vale Lords and Ladies to declare him Lord of the Vale and the Mountains for as long as your brother is too young to rule.

\- This wedding cannot have happened without my allowance,” Shara retorted. “I am Lady of…

\- Are you, now? Well you should probably inform your _goodfather_ ’s men then.”

 

She gulped and took a deep breath. _This cannot be,_ she thought. _He cannot do that. My bannermen would never renounce their allegiance to house Arryn._ But her brother was an Arryn – a weak, feeble one, but an Arryn all the same. If Baelish had indeed married his stupid mother, he had the right to declare himself regent. He was a Valeman himself, as much as she hated the idea. It would be all the easier if he told them exactly what he told Stannis Baratheon: how treacherous, sly she was. How much she had changed since her father died. _He cannot do that,_ she repeated herself. _I will not let him._ She was the one and only Lady of the Vale and she would not let a semi-peasant take what was hers by birth.

But she could not let her anger show, not just yet. So she smiled again, pretending it was nothing when really it was _everything._ She curtsied before the king and his family and turned to Ser Loras to salute him. He bended the neck, frowning.

 

“I thank you, your grace, for this information. I shall sort it out as quickly as possible with my Lord steward.

\- How dreadful,” Margaery sighed. “The realm truly needs peace. War turns men mad.

\- It is becoming an habit of yours, Lady Shara, to see your own people turn against you.” _Do shut up you golden haired whore._ “Or mayhap it is more of a curse to the Arryn blood?

\- Let us hope I do not have to spill some to end this nonsense,” she replied. The silence around her grew startled at the innuendo. “If you would excuse me, I need to talk to my husband.”

 

No one answered as she turned to head straight to the tower of the Hand. _Why does she know?_ Why did she _not_? That was the kind of things she should have known as soon as it happened. _What is Nestor Royce doing?_ She gritted her teeth as she rushed up the stairs to the Hand’s apartments. She was going to storm inside when she froze on the last landing. _No, Shara,_ she admonished herself. _Do calm down._ She needed to be clear-minded if she wanted to understand what in the Seven Hells was happening. She ran a hand across her face and sat on the last couple of stairs before the highest story where their rooms were, eyes closed.

 _One thing at the time._ Petyr Baelish had most likely whispered in Tywin Lannister’s ears before he broke King’s Landing’s siege, though she had yet no proof of that. She however knew that on his way to wherever his mission was, he stopped in Dragonstone and turned Stannis Baratheon against her. _Davos has no reason to lie to me._ And now he was in the Vale, married to Lady Lysa and proclaiming himself regent of his goodson. _What is he doing in the Vale in the first place?_ Tywin Lannister never told her what his mission was. He did not tell her that he had married her goodmother either.

She opened her eyes and stared at the naked, stony wall in front of her. _His mission was the Vale._ He was supposed to seize control over the lands, at a time where Stannis Baratheon was still a threat and, coincidentally, so was she. Once Littlefinger _inside_ the Arryn house, Tywin Lannister would have leverage on her to get her to do everything he wanted, or get it another way. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath again. It all made sense _then_ , but things had changed: she had accepted to assist him and give him heirs if he ensured she would keep the Vale. _He is double-crossing me._ That would not happen. Two could play this game. If he refused her her side of the agreement, she would refuse him his. She knew _exactly_ how to deprive him of any possible heirs, no matter how much he would try to get her pregnant.

She was burning – her insides were burning with anger. But she was clear-minded now. Now she had to turn it all over and get him to understand that it would be the last time he tried to stab her in the back before _she_ stabbed him. She never expected him to be truthful, but she was not expecting him to double-cross her so early. _Too bad his daughter is completely stupid._

She rose on her feet and calmly climbed the last couple of stairs. She asked his guard to announce her and patiently waited for the door to open. She walked in and simply went to sit in front of his desk, on the usual armchair. She had to play it subtly. Screaming and storming would not lead her anywhere, not with him, not for this kind of things. If he deliberately hid Baelish’s treason from her, _which he did_ , then she had to be as veiled and treacherous as him once again.

 

“I trust your morning stroll in the gaols was pleasant?” he asked after a while. “Ser Balon told me Stannis Baratheon made quite a show of himself.

\- As he usually does. You probably heard about Ser Seaworth’s help?

\- I have. Fascinating how you think I may keep your promises simply because you made them.” He raised his eyes and glanced at her. “I have no interest whatsoever in sending him to the Wall instead of executing him the way he ought to be.

\- I promised I would try to spare his life, not that you would actually do it,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. An hour ago she probably would have been more emphatic in his defence, but she hardly cared now. “Do as you wish, but once at the Wall with the certainty that his family is safe from harm, he shall pose no threat anymore. Think of it as a way to pretend you are merciful.”

 

She returned Tywin’s glance for a second, until he lowered his eyes again on his papers. He did not seem to care that much about Davos Seaworth – not that it was surprising. The man was too lowly born for him to care and had no men of his own to support him. Everything he was he owed to Stannis Baratheon and soon enough he would be no more. If he indeed decided to send him to the Wall, it would be out of pragmatisms more than out of mercy; he had a lot of way more dangerous men to execute than the former onion smuggler.

After a few more instants of silence, he grabbed a folded piece of parchment on the corner of his desk and handed it to her, gesturing her to read it. She took it, unfolded it, and indeed, read it. _Let it be known that by virtue of their holy union the Lord Tywin Lannister, son of the late Lord Tytos Lannister and his Lady wife Jeyne Lannister, née Marbrand, and the Lady Shara Lannister, née Arryn, daughter of the late Lord Jon Arryn and his Lady wife Rowena Arryn, hereby declare that the Lady Shara shall remain only liege of the Vale of Arryn until a son born of her comes to be. Any decree, order or agreement concerning the lands of the Vale of Arryn and its people shall be signed and commanded by the Lady. Should the Lady Shara Lannister pass without heir born of her, the suzerainty of the lands of the Vale of Arryn and its people shall be bequeathed to the Lord Robert Arryn, son of the late Lord Jon Arryn and his Lady wife Lysa Arryn, née Tully and be passed to any son born of him. Should the Lord Tywin Lannister die without heir born of him and his Lady wife Shara Lannister, née Arryn, she shall not claim any right over the lands of the Westerlands nor on any castle or stronghold thereof, except expressly gifted to her. Under the eyes of the Seven Gods, in their blessing and their grace, such is the will of the Lord and Lady Lannister and such will be done._

Tywin Lannister had already signed the parchment, she recognized his penmanship. She only needed to sign it for it to become law. She reread it a couple of times, a smirk on her lips. The last part, the one that mentioned she might not inherit the Westerlands as his wife if she had no son to press this claim for, was not discussed but it made sense. As she would not let a Lannister rule the Vale, he would let an Arryn rule the Westerlands – politics. If anything, the contract was perfectly written down and she did not see any way in which he could turn it against her. _Except that there is._ This was not signed by the king, which meant that indeed Tywin would probably not try to strip her himself from her rights… But also meant that she was not officially made the Lady of the Vale. The agreement stood as long as she was considered as such, and as long as the Vale itself did not refuse to consider her their liege. _Shall remain._ If her bannermen suddenly claimed she had _never been_ their liege, the agreement fell.

She could have just told him like that, but again, subtetly is what she was going for. So she simply put the parchment back on the desk and tilted her dead, her finger under the name of her goodmother. _Lady Lysa Arryn, née Tully._ The Hand stopped reading what he was reading and slightly frowned when he noticed her behaviour.

 

“I think you might want to correct that before I sign this document,” she lightly said. “I believe this is no longer my goodmother’s name.

\- I beg your pardon?

\- I believe she ought to be called Lady Lysa Baelish now.” His frown froze, if only for a second, before he took a breath. “Please, my Lord, spare me. If I know, so do you.”

 

His frown furthered, as if he could not process exactly _how_ she knew. _Perhaps he is stopping any letter I might receive from the Vale,_ she mused. _Or perhaps Lord Royce is either dead or imprisoned._ She sat straight on her armchair, waiting for him to be done thinking. He slowly put his quill back in the inkwell and leaned against the back of his chair, his hands firmly placed on the desk. Ever so controlling, except that the situation was no longer fully controlled. _Or at least not by him only._ There was annoyance in his eyes already, though she could not help if her behaviour was the cause or if he was annoyed that he had lost an opportunity to double cross her.

 

“And how, pray tell, have you heard about this mostly kept secret marriage?

\- You can thank your daughter for that,” she replied, smiling. “I know not if the intent was to spite me or demonstrate how easily it was to break our yet unsigned agreement, but the result remains the same.

\- I can hardly see how this breaks our agreement. Your goodmother was never part of it.

\- Obviously not, but the Vale was.” She tilted her head and grabbed a trinket on his desk to fidget. It was a small, golden lion that could probably be used as a quill holder. “And Her grace did not fail to mention Littlefinger’s plans regarding my goodbrother’s regency. Plans that, if successful, would effectively strip me of my lands.

\- These lands were never yours to begin with if Baelish’s ludicrous plans succeed.

\- Except that _this_ was part of our agreement, my Lord.”

She was struggling to keep an equal voice and never show the full extent of her anger. He did not seem to notice anything, or if he did, he did not show it either. She just saw his fingers drumming on the wooden desk. _Queen or not,_ she mused. _Cersei Lannister is going to regret her dreadful sense of discretion._ Not that she would have ignored it all her entire life, at some point she would have heard about a rebellion in her lands, but it probably would have been too late for her to do anything about it. If the whole plan was to keep the entire thing secret to her, it was probably to pose her as absolutely not interested in the Vale’s affairs and justify the change of liege.

She made herself patient and toyed with the golden lion for a while. It was not pure gold – it was too heavy for that. It was probably plated, and made of iron. _Which means that this is probably a gift._ Tywin Lannister would never use anything made in something as vile as iron when he had goldmines under his own castle.

 

“You know,” she eventually said after a while, thoughtful. “I do not actually believe you gave him the order to act now. Littlefinger left King’s Landing months ago on your order and I do believe he was indeed supposed to marry my goodmother to give you leverage in case I refused to act on your orders. After all, you could not possibly imagine he would also gain entrance in Dragonstone, destroy my alliance with Stannis Baratheon and shuffle the entire game. But once our alliance acted, you did not recall him.

\- I did not.” He was staring at her, still displeased but now mostly focused on the conversation. “I had a war to win and a false king to dethrone.

\- That would be a likely story, for any man who is not you. I am not controllable enough to your liking, and knowing full well that once this signed you would not be able to gain control over the Vale by just having me killed, you considered Baelish’s initial mission a solid way to keep the upper hand.”

 

Any exterior witness of their conversation would have believed they were discussing court matters by the way they talked. Their discussion was not heated, their voices were not strained or too high – it was subtle. The way she wanted it to be. Anger may come, but it would only when absolutely necessary to make her point. Tywin ran a hand across his jaw, on his thick golden beard that he had let grow during the Duskendale episode and still had not cut. She stopped playing with the lion and stopped moving, altogether.

 

“I may have,” he granted her, stony faced and stony voiced. “Still you have no way to know if I would have let him take control over the Vale.

\- Oh, I do not think you would have. But you would have told me just before he did.” She shook her head with a smirk. “So that you could compel me to renegotiate our agreement if need be, in your favour of course, before actually stopping him. Brilliant plan, really.

\- It really does not make such a change that you know now. You can hardly do anything about Petyr Baelish’s thirst for power, can you?

\- No, indeed. But you can.”

 

He raised a brow, not really surprised but rather taken aback by her sudden frankness. _Subtlety,_ she reminded herself. _But sometimes a bit of shock is good for the effect._ He was not going to willingly lend her men to take the Vale back and murder Petyr Baelish where he stood, this was another fight she had to win against him – or with him. _Sometimes fighting with can means fighting for, and not fighting against._ She doubted Tywin Lannister and her would ever fight alongside in a purely voluntary way, but it was just as good to fight alongside because of mutual threats and benefits when it reached the same results.

She put the lion back on the desk, making sure he would hear the thud of the impact. His eyes did not leave her. He just kept a hand on his jaw, thoughtfully.

 

“What benefits would I find in helping you regain control over your so-called lands, Lady Shara? Your wits seem to never betray you, as I do find some measure of interest in Lord Baelish’s plan. In what ways would your plan outweigh his?

\- Multiple, my Lord.” She counted on her fingers. “One, you would actually keep the Vale available for one of our heirs to inherit, which would not happen if you let him seize control of it.

\- You just said you do not believe I would let him keep the leash,” he pointed out. “I could just compel you to surrender the Vale unto me in exchange for a very satisfying death.

\- You could. But if you make me forsake my side of our agreement, you can be certain you shall never get your benefits.” _Now the threats._ “So two, I would actually give you heirs.

\- You have no control over that.

\- I would go as far as maim myself to make sure you would not get what you are after,” she retorted venomously. “And once this done, you shall either be left without wife or without heirs.”

 

 _He knows I would do it._ He did not even try to convince himself she would not – with everything she already did, he could not even doubt she would not put her life in danger if it meant destroying every hope he had to double cross her. He remained silent, rubbing his beard if it suddenly bothered him. It was a strange sight, really, to see him with so thick and untidy a beard. _He looks younger._ Younger, but somehow no less imposing, which remains one of the many reasons why she did not raise her voice at all. The tightrope she was dancing on was dangerously thin and one wrong step would see her fall, she had not forgotten that. He tolerated her, perhaps even found amusement in their conversations, but she had just issued a threat on him and it was the furthest she would go.

 

“Then perhaps there is a third way,” he hissed. “I could still change my mind and execute you under any pretence. Have your brilliant mind thought about that?

\- Quite a lot, actually. Living as a glorified prisoner for a few months does that to your mind.” She smirked, humourlessly. “I cannot do anything against such decision anyway. But a third benefit you would find in keeping to our original agreement, since you insist, is quite simple: I will you get rid of a very cumbersome ambitious bird that would eventually have stabbed you in the back. And if you will, one last benefit?”

 

She tilted her head and retrieved the lion. She remembered what Stannis’ blacksmith said about the Baratheon brothers – that Robert was steel, powerful and solid, Renly was copper, bright, shiny and pretty but not worth much and that Stannis was pure iron, black and hard, strong yet brittle. She had not much experience in metals, obviously, but she always imagined that bad iron might just break if torn the wrong way, the way Stannis would have broken before bending. Still staring right at Tywin Lannister’s eyes, she held the lion in her two hands, firmly, and after a while, tried to twist its neck with all the strength she had.

It did not take nearly as much strength as she thought, though – the neck broke instantly and she found herself with a broken quill holder, the head in one hand and the body in the others. She ignored the sharp pain she felt in her left hand fingers and the warmness she could feel spilling from them, and put the two pieces back on the desk. The head was now stained with blood where it was gold platted – the rest of it was black, the way iron is naturally. A charming sight, and he missed none of it.

 

“Four, I would pretend nothing happened, that you never tried to double cross me, my Lord, so we can proceed with our arrangement in the best conditions.

\- Is that a threat, Lady Shara?

\- It does not have to be, it may just be a respectful reminder. Much like Stannis’ fate, really.” She smiled. “All it takes is a piece of parchment signed by the king to add to this agreement of ours.”

 

She put her unwounded hand over the parchment and tilted her head.

 

“So? What will it be?”


	12. Splinters of your soul cut through my skin

The silence echoed under the high ceilings of the Hand of the king’s apartments, and all she heard for a while was her blood throbbing at her temple and discreet _plic, ploc_ when drops of it fell on the paved floor. Her wounded hand was burning, as if the cuts themselves were scorching hot, but she ignored the pain. The beheaded lion was still on the desk, separating the both of them. At some point he grabbed its broken head where her blood had started to dry and examined it as if it were some sort of peculiarity. _An ugly little iron thing,_ she thought. _Unworthy of him._

 

“You broke a gift from the Tyrells,” he noted, his voice equal. “Just for the sake of it.

\- A poor gift, if you ask me. If they hope to buy your clemency with iron and platted gold, they are far more stupid than I thought.

\- It is not my clemency they are after.” He put the head back near the body. “They want to spare their degenerated son from the union I am planning.

\- With Her grace,” she completed. He raised a brow. “I know that as well, but this time you have to thank Lady Olenna. She has been quite… Vocal on her dissatisfaction with it.

\- How very surprising of her. What did she threaten Cersei with, this time?

\- Poison.”

 

He rolled his eyes. She was not that surprised he knew about Olenna Tyrell’s plans, and to be perfectly honest she hardly cared. She actually liked the idea of Cersei Lannister being shipped off to Highgarden, far away from her sight and way too far to pose a threat to her safety anymore.

She was going to grab the agreement he had presented her when she winced – she had used the wrong hand. She bit her lips and clenched her fist to hide the full extent of the damages she had done. _Ridiculous how little a thing can cause so much damage._ Tywin Lannister obviously saw her palm and turned to pull one of the many cords hanging from the ceilings. She faintly heard a bell ring and guessed he had called Pycelle.

 

“How do you plan to regain control over the Vale?” he asked after a while. “Even if I do decide to aid you, that is no small task. Especially now that Petyr Baelish has declared himself regent.

\- My bannermen seem to have forgotten how the Arryns became Kings of Mountain and Vale. I intend to remind them.

\- Marching on your own land with a foreign army is certainly a way to regain their loyalty.” He scoffed. “The worst possible way, actually.

\- I never said I was going to invade my lands, my Lord. Just that I would remind them that we do not tolerate treason.

\- Then what is the help you expect of me?”

 

 _Have I won this?_ She was not too sure, Tywin Lannister was a sly man and he might just listen to her plan to make sure it would not come to fruition. She hesitated for a few seconds, unable to decide whether to tell him her full intention or not. She did not need much from him – she simply needed a royal decree to name her Lady of the Vale and Warden of the East in an official, unquestionable way, and about fifty men to escort her back to the Eyrie and ensure she would not get attacked on her way to her own castle. _Until I find out where in the Seven Hells Nestor Royce is._ As for the rest, she simply needed him to stay away from Vale matters and let her take any decision she deemed fit. _Then again, it is the exact content of our agreement. I simply need to sign it._

 

“I know the king’s wedding will happen in a few days from now,” she slowly said. “I will sail north immediately after it is done, for I intend to keep my word regarding Sansa Stark. All I ask from you is fifty of your men to escort me to the Vale and keep me safe.

\- A small escort, indeed. Fifty men cannot defend you against a full army.

\- Littlefinger does not have the Vale’s army yet,” she retorted, frowning. “And I intend to gather my own men once in Gulltown.

\- What about him, and those of your bannermen who decided to back his claim?

\- He will die. As for the others, it shall depend whether they regain reason quickly enough or if they persist in their treason.

\- And what about your goodmother and her son?”

 

 _If I could do as I really want, she would die as well._ And she would probably place her brother as a ward in other lands. Last time she saw him, he was still a puny little wretch with no will of his own and her late father knew how important it was to send him away from his mother for a time. She did not really want him to grow stronger or smarter, but she wanted him to grow _obedient_. With a mother like his, he would grow as a threat to her and her heirs – if he ever did grow. She had no love for him, no more than she had for his mother, but kinslayer was not a title she craved.

 

“Sent away, the both of them. I shall find some place to foster my brother, and Lady Lysa shall be sent back to Riverrun.

\- How reasonable of you,” he sneered. “When all you want is both of their heads on pikes.

\- Fratricide is hardly a rewarding feat, my Lord.

\- No, it is not indeed.” His eyes went from her face to her bloodied hand. “Do you think this was worth harming yourself?

\- This is just blood. You and I already have a lot of it on our hands, this hardly makes any change.” She shrugged and smirked. “Just so this can all look official, would you be so kind as to have the king sign a decree that officially makes me Lady of the Vale?

\- As long as you are aware that this is the last demand you ever make regarding our agreement.”

 

 _Not that this is new,_ she mused. _You were supposed to agree to it as well._ She did not say anything. She just watched him taking a blank piece of parchment, a quill and an inkwell. She did not see exactly what he wrote given that the door opened a few seconds later on the old and decrepit Grand Maester Pycelle. _Though given how bent over backward he is, he is more a glorified carpet than a Maester._ He stammered emphatic greetings that Tywin stopped without a single glance by ordering him to take care of her hand, and dragged a chair with him near the desk.

She had never appreciated him, there was something in him she could not help but distrust. Maybe it was the way everything he did to heal her father worsened his state, when everything Maester Colemon did improved it. Maybe it was the way he spent his time around the Lannisters. But there was not much to fear from him anymore since Tyrion Lannister threw him into a cell – the man was broken now, feebler than ever before. _Still._ The man was lecherous and she could not shake off her feeling of discomfort when he was around.

 

“Lady Shara cut herself while we were discussing the agreement you have provided us with,” Tywin simply said, still writing as Pycelle wiped off the blood from her palm and examined the cut. “Hopefully you can stop the bleeding.

\- Of course, my Lord, this is but a shallow gash, it will take no time…

\- I do hope so. She has quite the journey ahead.” He raised his eyes for a second and met hers for a second. “I would not want her to hurt on her way to the Vale.

\- This is great news, very great indeed, that you would return to your homeland, my Lady,” the Maester blabbered as he patted the cut with some liquids. She winced when she felt the sting. “This will do you much good, for the Vale’s air is one of the purest of the realm. Of course you know that, given how…

\- I intend to summon Maester Colemon back to King’s Landing.” He immediately quieted. Tywin stopped writing. “If I am to stay here, Lord husband, I intend to have a proper household at my service.”

 

He frowned, slightly, but did not comment. It was a reasonable demand – she had spent months already as a married woman with only soldiers as her household. Her father used to have a Maester, a personal guard of Valemen and her goodmother had ladies-in-waiting, although not many. After the soon-to-be queen Margaery, she was the second most important woman of the kingdom and it warranted decorum. If only to actually pretend she was actually married, and not just part of a mutually beneficial agreement that involved heirs and lands.

Pycelle eventually managed to bandage her hand and left, even more bent than before. Silence returned at last and she let out a sigh. She had no idea how the small Council managed to bear with him, but she would not let him near her, let alone _touch her_ ever again if it meant listening to his nonsense. At some point Tywin grabbed a seal in a locked drawer and stamped the blot of wax he had poured on the parchment. She blinked, surprised to be that it was the royal seal – not the Hand’s. He re-read what he wrote and handed it to her.

 

“Here it is, your precious royal decree,” he said, apparently unmoved by the entire situation. “Not that you actually need the excuse to storm Petyr Baelish.

\- Do you often sign royal decrees without His majesty’s approval, or do you simply want a way to annul this for procedural flaw?

\- His majesty has more important to do than sign decrees.” There was severity in his eyes. And a hint of dissatisfaction. “He delegates this kind of duties to his servants.

\- And you are only too happy to indulge.” She smiled, and read the decree. “I was not expecting this to be so easy. Have I managed to wear you out?

\- You have not yet taken the Vale back, Lady Shara. Do not celebrate a victory you have not yet secured.

\- Do not beat yourself too hard,” she chuckled. “This was a great plan, until you decided to inform your daughter about it.”

 

She put the decree away, on a corner of the desk, and took the agreement back. Her goodmother’s change of name was not going to make it null and void, and now that she was officially the Warden of the East, the agreement was according to their conversation. She asked for his quill and dipped it in ink. She paused for a second, just a second, just enough to process the full extent of what she was doing. _Once this signed,_ she thought. _The time for talks is over._ And her time as Arryn, fully gone.

And she signed, an elegant signature figuring her maiden name – it was deliberate. She put the quill down and took a deep breath. She was also expecting this to be harder, but after everything she had gone through these last weeks, it was a relief to finally be done with this. She was not sure what her future would be, but she was certain there was nothing her past could have offered her.

 

“When the wedding is over I shall give orders to rearrange the tower,” Tywin Lannister simply said. “It is high time things go the way they ought.

\- Until now, they were going the way an imprisonment ought to go. I did not think it bothered you that much.

\- Having you as a prisoner did not bother me when you were one.” He was not paying much attention to her sarcasm, he was just writing something on some parchment. “From now on and for the entire realm you are the Lady of Casterly Rock, as well as the Hand of the king’s legitimate wife. This warrants…

\- Decorum.” She nodded to herself. “Very well. Then mayhap you would want to give me back a bed in the apartments you are going to refurnish for me.”

 

He raised his eyes, apparently unamused, and caused her to chuckle. She rose from her seat and walked to the nearest window. She had no idea whether he would relocate her on a lower floor or if he would just rearrange her existing apartments, but she liked them. _And I especially like the hole in the wall,_ she mused. Underneath the tower she could see the amount of flowers that had been re-placed in the gardens, everywhere in the inner and outer court of the castle. The Red Keep was rushing the preparations for the wedding – again. She was fine with the idea. The sooner this mascarade was over, the sooner she would leave. _And Sansa as well._ Not that she was absolutely certain her life would be any better in Winterfell now that it was controlled by the Boltons, but at least she would be away from the king.

 

“I would like to keep my room,” she eventually said. “And use the spare one as a antechamber. It would only take a door between the two rooms.

\- I thought you would want to separate yourself from here. Why this room?

\- I love the view.” She turned her head to him. “And if you wanted me to stop pestering you with our banter, you should have sent me away, not kept me as wife.

\- I suppose I cannot expect a schemer to become anything but, indeed.”

 

She smirked. _No, indeed_. She glanced one last look at the gardens and turned to face him. He was still sitting at his desk, still amongst parchments galore. But he was not writing anymore. He was just looking at her. _Staring_ , would be more exact. Probably thinking about the next step of this contract of theirs – she knew exactly which one. Not that she _desired_ it, per se, but she did not fear it. She signed for this, after all.

 

“Should I be offended that you are so eager to relocate me away from your chambers, my Lord?” she asked, still smiling. “When part of our agreement involves producing heirs?

\- I do not intend to lock myself out of your apartments, Lady Shara.

\- Of course you would not. I hope you will not miss me too much, though, if we are to sleep separately.

\- I do not think I will miss your incessant blabbering, no.

\- I was not talking about that.”

 

She did not miss the almost imperceptible twitch of his eyes. She kept her smile bright and crooked. There may have been other occasions, but this time she was certain she surprised him – or at least took him aback. Not in a bad way, given that he did not push her back or send her off, both literally and figuratively. She simply had his full attention now. _Like most men,_ she mused. _He is just a man, after all._ But she was not just any woman. Not ever, not anymore, and not to him.

 

“You and me aside,” she spoke again. “You could have had any noble woman sold out by their fathers in the blink of an eye. Any renegade Stormlands’ lord would have given you their daughters and Storm’s End on a silver plate, had you just asked. And yet you chose to keep your cumbersome and sly decoy of a wife instead of whatever pretty fool you could have bought. Any of them could have given you heirs, but no. You kept me.

\- Are you trying to get me to say that you are more beautiful than these pretty Stormlander fools you speak of?

\- No need, my Lord, I know that much and you would never say it to my face.” She chuckled. “But thank you nonetheless.

\- It is no mystery to you that only your wits equal your beauty, and yet you consider necessary to remind me of this obvious fact. Why?”

 

She tilted her head. No woman ever taught her how to use her wiles as well as her charms – she just learned through observation of the court. Her father considered her beauty as a bonus in his search for a suitable match. The perfect, purest Andal beauty was a very prized boon for any house in search for more prestige – or for any man in search for a trophy wife. The old man, when he advertised her, simply forgot that the white rose had many thorns to spurn those she deemed unworthy. Tywin Lannister had seen the thorns and felt their sting before he even thought of looking at the flower – now he wanted it. Nothing more natural.

 

“Because your desireless, cold act does not fool me. You may cover this arrangement of ours with a veneer of politics and reason, but I know better. I have seen the direction your eyes take when you look at me. I am no senseless maiden.

\- Of these two things, you are none indeed.” She saw one of his mouth’s corners curl up. “Does it flatter your overarching pride to know that you are desired?

\- It flatters it even more when I know both my mind and my body are desired.”

 

His eyes flashed and she saw him stand, then walk past hi desk to move toward her. She let him cross the distance between them, and faced him when he was close enough. His face was cold, emotionless, but the two emeralds of his eyes were two pyres that engulfed her whole. His fingers on her chin and cheeks, lifting her entire face to be able to stare at her, were cold but his breath was scorching hot. She raised her face to follow his hand’s push. She kept her eyes in his, until he lowered them on her lips. _He wants me,_ she realized, more surprised than she thought. _Is he going to kiss me?_ His other hand, usually still when he let this kind of moment slip, was restless. It never quite touched her, but she sensed it near her waist, her back, her hair.

And she remained perfectly still, her arms at her side, staring at this dangerous man who seemed to want nothing but one thing at this precise moment: her.

 

“How hard has it been?” she whispered, teasing even further the flames he struggled to cover. “To have me so close yet so far for so long?

\- You were always as far as I wanted you to be. Your low wiles do not work on me.

\- Do they not? And yet I could swear you would have pushed me unto your bed ages ago, had the sun not been this high.

\- You give yourself far too much credit, Shara Arryn.

\- Could you swear the contrary, Tywin Lannister?”

 

His eyes narrowed when she uttered his name, but he did not swear. Then again, he did not utter a single world while his fingers around her jaws grew more pressing with each one of his breath. He seemed to be getting closer and closer and at some point he became the only thing she could see. He was not keeping his eyes into hers, it was as if her lips attracted them to never let go. And she wondered, suddenly, what it was like to be kissed by a man like Tywin Lannister. Touched, by a man like Tywin Lannister.

She never made a single move, craving to see just how far he would go. The tiniest move was enough for their lips to brush against one another. She felt insanely victorious, for the time it lasted – which meant only seconds. Just enough to feel how hasty his breath had grown. Just enough to know just how much this man wanted her right here, right now.

And then it was over. He stepped away from her and turned his back, as if nothing happened. It could have been frustrating, if it had not been so intoxicating to realize how much of a leverage she had on him on this regard. She had been desired by many men before and sometimes she ventured to satisfy these men’s desire, but none of them ever came closer to Tywin Lannister’s barely restrained _hunger._ Even after months of waiting. Even after her playing them. And it pleased her, a lot, to see and _feel_ the proof of this sheer power in her hands.

 

“I have a small Council meeting to attend,” he eventually said, his tone equal but his voice still hoarse. “And you have a wedding to prepare. A journey to set up.

\- I suppose I will see you tonight, my Lord.

\- You will.” He darted her a very dark glance that sent uncontrolled shiver down her spine. “Be there after your dinner.

\- Do you have instructions regarding the dress I shall wear for your royal grandson’s wedding?”

 

She was not nearly as unsettled by the event as he seemed to be, for a while. Pretending nothing had happened was easier for her than it was for him – probably. She headed to the door while replacing a strand of hair he had displaced, while he returned to his desk. When she saw his face again, it was back to its usual unshaken self. She made no comment on it. The evening would come fast enough and whatever she saw brewing under the surface would be no secret in a matter of hours. She was almost surprised herself by her curiosity, and the anticipation that went with it.

 

“I have given orders regarding the dress you ought to wear. You will find it in your room’s dresser by tomorrow morning.

\- Do I have to wear lion pendants and red and crimson earrings?” She found this game increasingly fun to play. He was frowning, disturbed in his work and focus. “Is blue even an option?

\- I care not what you decide to wear as jewels,” he cut short. “I have work to do. You are dismissed.

\- As you wish, my Lord.” She curtsied – he did not look. “Do not let me cloud your mind. I would be sorry to be the cause of a fruitless meeting with the Council.”

 

He raised his head but when he went to speak, probably to berate her, she was already in the corridor and walking to her room. _Well well,_ she thought as she returned to her future chambers. _Perhaps there is more power to this mascarade of a marriage than I thought._


	13. Set fire to the world to keep us warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the late update, I've had quite the busy day today, with not a single second for myself and for you. 
> 
> I've seen your comments about last week's chapter: thank you so much for your compliments! I have so glad to see how much you like this fic, it really drives me to push further and further this story. Given how much you like Tywin and Shara's dynamics, let me just say that we're not nearly done with them... At all ;)
> 
> As for today's chapter... I think *some* of you will be greatly satisfied with it. I'm not too used to write this kind of things, so hopefully it's not too bad! Enjoy!

She found surprisingly easy to shrug off what was going to happen once the sun would have set, and went about her business as per usual. Tywin Lannister quickly left the tower of the Hand to do whatever the Hand of the king considered proper to do with his daytime hours, so she summoned the royal architect to her chambers to discuss the new arrangement he mentioned. She had no taste for decoration and furniture, so she gave him a free reign to arrange her future apartments as he saw fit during her journey to the Vale. He assured her it would be done by the time she would return, the new door and the bed’s return alike. _A good thing,_ she mused. _At least I shall have a sense of intimacy._ He remained for a few hours as they discussed what to do with the rest of the tower. She hinted at the possibility of children in a more or less near future, and asked him to keep the floor just underneath the first one available for them.

She was searching through her jewels to find the perfect combination to wear for the wedding when she heard knockings at her door. She only had the time to raise her head from her desk when she saw the door opening on none else than Her grace, the queen Cersei Lannister. Surprised, she deeply curtsied and bit her lower lips. _Cersei Lannister, talking to me twice in a day… Heralds nothing good._

 

“Your grace,” she greeted her. “Do what I owe the honour?

\- To your unnerving capacities to manipulate your way to your goals, Lady Shara.

\- I beg you pardon, your grace?” _Cursed be her. How does she even know?_ “Have I done anything to upset your…

\- Have you ever done anything but, would be a better question.”

 

She gritted her teeth, silently watching her eye the room they were in. There was an unspeakable amount of scorn, hatred and disdain in the way she looked down on everything, her included. She struggled to keep a neutral, submissive attitude, knowing full well that the queen was already angry enough – she did not need more than a word to be enraged. It was something she had come to understand, throughout the years she spent at court with her father: if the Lannisters in general were not people to be crossed without consequences, Cersei Lannister was the deadliest of them when slighted. She had killed a king, and got away with it ridiculously easily. The Warden of the North died because she refused to see him become the Regent until her son came of age – or, more likely, until he disclosed the full truth about her children and placed Stannis Baratheon on the throne. She managed to get rid of every each of her late husband’s offspring, one by one, until none was left alive. If she ever decided to attempt to her life, there was hardly anything Shara could do in King’s Landing.

That was probably the most frustrating thing with her position here. She _could be_ the most powerful woman in the castle, if not for Cersei Lannister. As long as she remained within the Red Keep, not only was she _not_ this most powerful woman, but she was also very much risking her life at every each of her steps. _I find his possible marriage with Loras Tyrell more and more interesting,_ she mused bitterly.

 

“You are a clever one, are you not?” the queen eventually asked, her venomous eyes planted in hers. “You have finally understood that all these wits of yours are no weapon to match the one between your legs.

\- I suppose I should thank your grace for the realization. Most of what I now understand of the life at court comes from my observation of you.

\- Then you should have understood that life at court is easier when you are a pretty fool.” She did not flinch at the insult – of course. “Not a pretty wannabe schemer, angering the wrong persons.

\- Are you amongst those I anger? Lest you forget, your majesty, I did not choose to marry your Lord father. You cannot blame me for making the most of my situation,” she smiled. “Not when you did the same for years.”

 

Her eyes suddenly were engulfed in flames. She still had no idea how she came to know about their conversation – the only way to listen to what happened in the Hand’s apartments was through the holes in her wall, and the door had remained closed for the entire morning. If she was there, it meant she had no entry to the small Council, so Tywin himself could not have told her anything. _Then it leaves us with one person._ She could not pretend to be surprised. There was a reason why she could not stand Pycelle’s presence – now the reason had a name, and it was the queen’s.

She chuckled, lowly, still staring back at Cersei Lannister. For a second, she seemed unsettled before the pyres in her eyes returned, even brighter than before. It was strange sight. Shara always was convinced that the Lannister twins were strikingly similar in both looks and behaviours, but the more she looked at them both, the less it seemed true. The look on the queen’s face was one of a madwoman, raging and hungry for blood. Her undeniable beauty reinforced the aura of mad anger that surrounded her. Her brother more than often seemed sadder than proud, more uncertain than brashly confident. Something had changed in him. Something else had changed in her.

 

“You chose to remain here and you bargained hard,” Cersei spat back. “You haggled over the price of your cunt like a common whore, hoping for more power than a fool like you deserve.

\- I thought I was no fool?” She remained still, quiet, to face her wrath. “You may be your father’s daughter, your grace, but you are effectively insulting the Hand of the king’s wife. I am not certain he would appreciate that.

\- So you truly believe he would choose to heed your words and not mine? It is your voice against mine.” She made a step closer, menacing like a nearing storm. “The queen’s voice against a traitor. The crown’s voice against…

\- I am certain I heard Tywin Lannister say that a crown alone gives no power to the one wearing it. And you will lose it in two days. What does that say about the amount of power you truly wield?”

For a second, she regretted speaking so frankly. Just enough to see her hand rise and grab her arm, digging her nails in her skin like a feral beast in her prey. She could not help remembering her wedding’s feast, when the exact same thing happened – except that this time, she was alone with her. When she saw her other hand rising as well, she clenched her jaw and did not try to cower. She took the slap and the sting that went with it, ignoring at first that she was wearing a ring. When she felt the powerful pain at her cheekbone, she understood very quickly that this would leave a mark. _A proof._ She stepped back when she released her and put a hand on her cheek. When she looked at her hand, she saw blood smeared on her palm. When she looked at the queen, she saw every step of her slow realization in her eyes. She had left a mark.

 

“To think Lady Olenna begged me to spare her son from the disastrous marriage your father wants for the both of you,” she hissed, answering venom with venom. “To think I was thinking of actually talking to Lord Tywin about it.

\- You have no bearing on any of his decisions, you filthy little slut.

\- Well, you will never know, will you?” She made a step forward as well. “You should leave, your grace. It is almost time for dinner, and the Lord Hand has requested my presence afterward. I think you have done enough.

\- He will not believe a word you will say. He is smarter than that.

\- He surely is smarter than you,” she shrugged. “And smarter than your low cunning.”

 

She did not respond anything and for a while the two women stared at each other like two predators waiting for any sign of weakness to bite and strike. None came, so they did not move. Shara could feel the warmness of the little blood that still poured from the cut on her cheekbone but shrugged off the sting. She had seen worse. At least she had just given her enough to send her away to Highgarden or whatever hole Tywin Lannister would send her and her husband-to-be. Shara eventually smirked and turned away to the mirror attached to her dressing table.

The cut was shallow, but visible still. It would be gone in two-days time, but for now it was a weapon to use against her. Tywin Lannister may not care about her safety as such, but if children were to come, he could not afford to let his own daughter threaten their very existence because she hated their mother. It was not really her plan to oust the queen from the capital, not like this anyway, but she did not give her much choice, did she?

 

“I believe you will have dinner with the Tyrell’s party tonight, so mayhap you could convey a message to the Lady Olenna for me?” she asked, still looking at herself. “Tell her I have considered her demand but sadly cannot grant her request. It seems I have… No bearing on any of my Lord husband’s decisions, these days.

\- You better stay in your mountains, Lady Shara, or by the Gods I swear I will do everything it takes to get you out of my castle!

\- Your castle, indeed.” She turned to face her one last time. “But not for long still. Enjoy your power here while you can. We shall see how the Hand’s react to violence against his wife. Guard?” The door opened. “Her grace wishes to return to her apartments. Would you be so kind as to escort her back?”

 

For a second, Cersei Lannister did make a move. She left with a swing of her dress and banged the door behind her. Shara remained standing for a few more instants before collapsing on the nearest chair. _Seven Hells,_ she thought, running a hand across her face. _These damned Lannisters will be the death of me._ She winced when she touched her cut and cleaned it as best she could, waiting for any of her maids to come with her dinner and make sure it would not get infected for some reason.

She did not wait long. Though she did not trust the girl, she did help her to make sure the wound was not bleeding anymore and was completely cleaned. _You are bruising already, my Lady,_ the lass said. _Are you sure you do not want me to call the Maester?_ She would now rather die than let Pycelle do so little as approach her again, the cursed traitor. She ate, thoughtfully, while listening to the usual blabbering of the girl. Apparently more flowers had arrived from the Reach and the servants did not know what to do with it. The Great Sept was already completely filled, as well as the Red Keep, the walls and the gardens. _You should ask the Lady Margaery to give it to the small folk,_ she eventually offered the maid as she brushed her hair. _It would please them._ Obviously the girl hesitated, until Shara promised she would have a word with the Lady about it. She had to keep Margaery on her side, if she were to lose her grandmother. Or at least, she had to pretend she would not lose any of them.

Once simply dressed in a white, oddly virginal knee-long shirt, she dismissed her to remain on her own. _There it is,_ she thought while looking at herself in the mirror. _It is time._ She arranged her untied hair on her shoulder, toying with the lazy curls that crowned both her face and neck. _I should wear them down more often._ She often forgot how long her hair was, and how light too. By the candlelight, it seemed almost silver. She knotted the tie of her shirt on her chest and walked out of her room, past her guard and the one in front of Tywin’s door. He made no comment, barely even looked at her. She walked through the empty antechamber, straight to the main room again.

Tywin was at the desk, again. He was writing something on some parchment, but it did not last. He almost instantly raised his eyes to look at her and slowly put his quill down. It was flattering, in a sense, but the situation was not as comfortable as it was in the morning. She did not feel as much in control as she did earlier, probably because she had never stood before him _this_ naked. She had slept next to him, but it was dark and he never really saw her in her bed shirts. Other men had, but suddenly it was as if they simply never existed. She almost felt like a maiden again, standing on her own in the middle of a cold room, waiting for something she was not going to really control. 

He stood up after a few seconds of silence and she realized he was wearing a gown over a simple shirt as well. _He was waiting for me._ Keeping himself busy while expecting her. It brought a smile to her lips, and reminded her that if anything, he was the weakest one here. He wanted her. She was just offering. It was quite a strange sight, really, to see the man without the black attires, the insignia or the armour. He was just a man, as he walked to her in the middle of the room. He was taller than her, of course, but so were all the men she knew, and wider too. His face was as stark as ever and it added to the strangeness of the entire situation.

 

“Did you miss me?” she asked with a smile, when he was close enough. “How did the council go?

\- Uneventful.” His voice was as cold as ever, too. He slightly frowned when he noticed the cut and the forming bruise. “What happened to your face?

\- That is a story for a later time. I am sure you will like it, though.

\- How come you cannot spend a few hours on your own without causing troubles?

\- Do not ask questions whose answers you will not like.”

 

She offered him a wider smile. Silence returned, at the same time lighter and heavier – in meaning. She did not need to make a single step; in a single, swift move, he untied her shirt. The collar opened wide on her shoulders and all it took was a shrug and it fell off at her feet. And, just like that, she stood naked at arm’s reach of Tywin Lannister, in the loudest silence she ever heard. Despite the composure he struggled to keep, his eyes said everything he did not. They followed every lines of her body, cupped her breasts before his hands even moved, embraced the curves of her waist and those of her hips. She wondered if she was the only one feeling like a maiden again, given how still he remained. 

As she decided that he ought to be feeling the same, he put a hand on her waist and though this hand was cold she let it push her near the bed. The stony floor was cold under her feet as well, and the night’s draft sent shivers on her naked skin. She could not tell whether he noticed it or not, given that he simply put his robe away and only kept his long shirt on as she climbed on the bed. She suppressed the shivers and the cold, not convinced it was exclusively due to the wind. She watched him as he walked around the bed, still staring at her. There was a sense of predation in the way things went, but it was hardly different from the entire time she spent with him. It was the just the most bestial part of their preying game.

She still had no idea how it would happen. The men she had lay with were not him, and what they did was not what they were doing at the moment. It was done purely out of vanity, boredom and curiosity on her part, and desire on theirs – no duty involved, only foolishness and a varying dose of pleasure. Tywin Lannister was still a strong man, now that she could see him without his robe, doublet or armour. By many accounts, he was still handsome and desirable, but there was no comparison possible between him and an Arys Oakheart. None at all.

 

“Have I found the only way to keep Shara Arryn quiet?” she heard when he eventually decided to join her on the bed. “To scare her, mayhap?

\- If that is the effect you are going after, I am sorry to say…

\- You are stalling.”

 

She saw a corner of his lips curl up, ever so faintly. She did not reply anything, because replying anything would mean he was right. _Stop thinking,_ she admonished herself. _Shut your damned mind._ And, as to ward off any temptation she had to flee, this time she did not wait for him to move. She joined him on the edge of the bed and, while carefully avoiding his smouldering gaze, she untied the lace of his shirt as well. She had just unknotted it when he seized her wrist, preventing her from pulling his only remaining clothe down, and pushed her down until she laid on her back. He did not release her wrist, pinning it against the mattress, as his other hand finally touched everything his eyes only admire for so long. She suppressed shivers again, now absolutely certain the cold had nothing to do with them.

She struggled against him to free her hand but he held on. There was more strength to this man than meets the eye, especially as he seemed determined to keep her still. Every inch of skin he had hungrily stared at were now cupped, touched, brushed by his avid hand and it took her full strength of mind not to simply give in. She bit her lip and waited for his hand to be close enough to seize it as well and pin it against the mattress as well. He frowned and immediately raised his eyes to stare at her. It was frustrating – for him, of course, but also for her. She craved for more. But if this was predation, she was not going to be the meek prey.

He said nothing. She held on to his wrist as tight as she could, but eventually he stopped pulling. The frowning disappeared and he gradually lowered himself until there was barely any space left between them. She held her breath, unsure of what he was going to do, and saw him plunge down. A second later she felt lips on her chest, on each one of her breast. She gasped and, foolishly, tried to pull her hand free again. He gripped it even tighter, so tight that she feared he might bruise her. She stared down at him, trying to catch his eyes but the only gaze he granted her was one of scolding. _Stop moving,_ his darkened eyes meant to say. Caught in a maelstrom of conflicting feelings, she wanted, for a second, to disobey – but did not find the strength to when his mouth slowly went down, from her breast to her ribs, ribs to belly, belly to…

She gasped, unable to suppress it, and reflexively released his wrist to grasp the sheets. The only thing his now freed hand did was hold unto his thigh to keep her down in case she tried to escape. _Gods, no,_ was her first thought - and her last. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the sigh of his hungry eyes staring at her. This… _This_ never happened to her before. She had never felt anything like _this_ before. No one had ever made her feel _that way_ before. She thought the little experience she had would help picturing herself as cold and unmoved by so crude a thing, but she found no way to refrain from moaning, _crying_ even, as his tongue did everything other men’s clumsy fingers never managed to. Every each of her nails was digging into the sheets, her hips were bucking towards him uncontrollably and it grew more overwhelming with every second that passed. She felt drops of sweats running down her entire body. _Gods, oh gods._ It was so much that it was almost painful, in the most exquisite of ways, and it grew, grew, _grew_ , and she felt an immense wave of pleasure swelling, scorching hot.

When it crashed, she cried and trembled as if struck by lightning. And she might have as well been, really. She struggled to appease her ragged breath, her hands over her eyes as if it could shield her from what had just happened. _Gods,_ she tried to think. _Gods what was that?_ She felt the mattress moving under her and understood he was moving. She felt his warmth next to her. _Gods._ She did not manage to think clearly, or to think at all. She did not even realize that he had released her wrist until she opened her eyes again and turned to look at him. His eyes were darker than ever before, blacker than green, and shining furiously. _Hungrily._ There was a smirk on his lips, both victorious and mocking. She could not get anything clever to come out, as if he had just managed to completely empty her mind.

 

“Have you lost your wits? Your clever words?” His breath was hot on her shoulders and the tornado of feelings that had just subsided reappeared. _More,_ it seemed to say. _More._ “Rendered speechless?

\- You would love that, would you not?

\- I already do. Underneath all that cold veneer of pride you cloak yourself with,” he whispered, moving back on top of her. “You are just a woman.

\- As you are just a man. Filled with desire and lust and…”

 

She did not get to finish. Her voice turned to a flinching breath when he pushed into her. That was a more familiar feeling, but yet again it had nothing to do with anything she had ever felt before – it was different, because everything was different. Though his lips never touched hers, they touched everything in their reach, her shoulders, her neck, her chin, her breasts again and again. Some of his kisses were more bites than they were caresses, but there was so much pleasure in them that eventually locked her arms around his chest to keep him close and get him to continue everything he was doing.

He picked up the pace, gradually, and once again it was nearly impossible for her to suppress her moans and sighs. She had never thought herself to be this vocal, but then again what she had done before was as far from _that_ as the men were from _him._ Hearing her seemed to please Tywin, enough for him to grunt and groan near her ear with every one of his thrusts. She could not think straight, her mind was effectively shut and unable to process anything but the ever returning, crashing waves of pleasure that washed over her.

As his own groans grew louder, she felt her back arching on its own, her hips rocking toward him to follow his pace. As she was nearing peak again, she released his back to dig her nails in the sheets, to hold unto them as much as to keep the tiniest amount of control over herself. She felt hands on her wrists again, and somewhere in her tortured mind she also felt pain – the bruises. She did not care, not just yet. She simply cared for the smouldering waves inside of her, swelling and swelling… Until they became overwhelming, not exactly as they did before, but enough for her not to be able to suppress a last cry of pleasure. She did not even hear any sound he might have made. She only heard her own blood throbbing at her temples and her panting breath for a long, long time.

Even long after he moved away from her to lie on his back, with only his shoulder grazing hers. It took her a long time to regain full consciousness of her surroundings. First, the sheets on her skin. Then the radiating pain on her wrists and on a few spots on her chests. And, lastly, the drying seed spilt both between and on her thighs. As for her mind, it took even longer for her to even remember the full meaning of what they just did. It all came back when she felt fingers on her cheek, reviving a sting she had completely forgotten, and heard his voice again. She turned her face to look at him.

 

“Where does that come from?

\- You never give up, do you?” she replied, trying to clear her voice – to no avail. “That will probably ruin your good mood, you know.

\- What will undoubtedly ruin my good mood is a uselessly secretive wife. Speak.

\- You have such a talent to destroy a nice moment.” She sighed and sat up, trying to discipline her now very much tangled hair. “I suppose your daughter inherited that.

\- Cersei did that? To you?”

 

 _Yes she did_ , she thought. Her mind was still very much clouded and she was now both exhausted and sore. As she looked at herself, she noticed every single forming bruises he had left and hesitated between surprise, reprobation and a certain sense of pride – she had gotten Tywin Lannister to do _that_ to her. She had instilled enough desire and _craving_ in him to push him to these extremes. She touched the bluish hue on her hand and winced. This was not going to be easy to hide, not as much as those on her chest. _No low-cut neckline for me tomorrow._

When she looked at him again, she froze. The contrast between him, a few minutes ago, and him at this very moment could not have been more striking – he looked positively furious, more than she thought possible. It did not matter that he was naked, and it did not matter that less than a hour before he had his head between her legs; at that moment, he looked _murderous._ And he was staring at her. _At the cut,_ she reminded herself.

 

“Why did she hit you?

\- She came to my chambers earlier today, after you left to attend the Council.” Though she knew his anger was not directed toward her, she forced herself to weigh every single one of her words. Out of caution – and a healthy dose of fear. “Probably to vent on how much she despises and hates me. I talked back, she slapped me. She may or may not have forgotten that she wore a ring.

\- What did she tell you?

\- Amongst many slurs I will spare you,” she sighed. “That she would do anything and everything to make sure I will not remain in this castle if I do not leave myself.”

 

It was a fascinating thing, how much Tywin Lannister’s eyes could reflect exactly how he felt. It was very subtle, but to her it was becoming more and more obvious as she came to know him. Most of the time they were green, in a cold, jewel-like way. Sometimes they glistened, mostly when he was either entertained or annoyed. She had seen them going dark, almost black, with lust. Now they were almost completely black too, but with rage. She tried not to flinch when his hand seized her chin to inspect her face and stared back at the two pools of ink his eyes had turned into.

 

“If you are lying to get rid of her,” his sombre voice hissed. “I will know.

\- I know you would. But this is the truth.” She leaned unto his hand, to get closer to him and hiss as well. _He may have ruined the mood, but I can still use it to my advantage._ “I want her away.

\- I thought Olenna Tyrell asked you to convince me to change my mind about the marriage.

\- I reconsidered.” She smirked. “I want her away when I return from the Vale. I will let no child of mine live under the same roof as her. Would you take that risk?”

He released her face, but his hand lingered on her neck. She observed his face slowly switching back from pure rage to calm. His eyes returned to their emerald self, cold and unmoved. They stared at each other in silence, ignoring for as long as it lasted everything around them – literally and figuratively. After a while she saw him slowly shaking his head. _No, he would not._ He looked at her a few more seconds, but then grabbed his shirt and put it back on.

 

“When you are back from the Vale,” he said, his voice seemingly unmoved. “This will be taken care of.

\- Leave Lady Olenna to me,” she said. “I can deal with her frustration.

\- I am sure you can. In return, I expect you to do your part of our agreement.

\- Ha.” She scoffed and grinned. “Well, if your way of ensuring I give you an heir always looks… And feels like that, this will be done sooner than later.

\- We shall see.”

 

The quick gleam in his eyes said what he did not – that she was not the only one enjoying this part of the agreement. _Well well,_ she thought. _I was not expecting this to go this way._ But she could make do. _Oh yes I will._


	14. Whisper our tales of shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOSH YOU GUYS, I'm so overwhelmed with your reactions! I'm quite busy these days so I can't always reply to you individually, but thank you SO MUCH! I'm so glad you liked that chapter, I know it was much anticipated and hoped it would live to your expectations.  
> Thank you so so much for your support, it's worth a lot to me!

A disaster – this was a _disaster_ , through and through. Practically _nothing_ went the way it should have. They executed Stannis Baratheon at dawn, the very day of the marriage. No one attended it, convinced that it was bad omen to kill a traitor on a wedding day and she had to admit the timing was disastrous. No one saw the man die, except for the king, his family and his wife-to-be – and her, of course. But it was unsatisfying. He had been tortured, almost to death, and barely managed to walk to the chopping block. His face was so swollen that both of his eyes were kept closed. There was blood smeared all across his face, neck, chest. She was not expecting much from the execution, but she found no solace, no proper ending to the way Stannis Baratheon died. He did not see her, and she did not see him in this mess of a man they had turned him into. She felt that Tywin Lannister did not feel differently, and understood that he had no part in the decision to execute him now and not later. Margaery Tyrell tried her best to show enthusiasm but she was disgusted by the spectacle. _Joffrey surely has his own ways of showing his happiness to be married._

Then the wedding happened and then again, nothing went the way it should have. The ceremony was ludicrously fancy and the Sept’s speech loftier than anything she heard before. The day was awfully hot and only the Dornish had clothes adapted to this kind of weather – and they seem as happy to be there as she was to attend her own marriage, back then. And it only went downhill. They had to witness the horrid dwarf show Cersei Lannister found appropriate for a marriage and then…

 _Then the king died at his wedding table._ She found some form of sweet irony to the idea that a Lannister died almost the same way as a Stark did, months ago. Murdered by someone he either invited or lived with, poisoned by someone close enough to get in reach of his goblet. She missed most of the panic that followed the excruciating death of the late Joffrey Baratheon, first of His name, because she immediately understood that _this_ was the opportunity she needed to get Sansa Stark to leave to the North. She had the ship and the captain to sail it, and Sansa Stark had befriended Lady Brienne of Tarth, who had sworn to Lady Catelyn that she would bring her home. It was only too easy to convince her to take her away to the harbour, jump on her ship and sail back north. In fact, she was only told what exactly happened by Tywin himself. The queen blamed Tyrion for her son’s death and the entire court was only too happy to oblige, the Hand included. 

He organized a trial, or what was meant to be a trial but was really nothing but a farce. The judges were none else than himself, Mace Tyrell and Doran Martell whom he had apparently convinced to remain long enough to attend the trial. He did not leave her any choice: she had to watch the full court, plus the guests, parading in front of the throne to declare, one by one, that they knew how much Tyrion Lannister hated the late Joffrey, how much he wanted him dead, and how certain they were that he poisoned their beloved king. She did not, however – no one asked to speak, just as no one asked the queen or Ser Jaime. Apparently she was too close to both the victim and the suspected killer, even though Tywin Lannister, as grandfather to the first and father to the second, was unbiased enough to judge him. _A joke. All of it._

So she just remained there, listening to the whole court’s nonsense. She would leave in the morrow for the Vale, as decided by Tywin. She spent almost an entire afternoon getting him to understand that either he let her leave whenever she wanted or she left anyway – but without escort. At first she wanted to leave before the trial, but eventually settled for the best solution he offered her: leaving immediately after the end of the trial, with the Lannister escort she asked for _and_ Ser Jaime Lannister. His father wanted him away, probably to ensure no one would try to prevent him from sending Cersei to Highgarden with Ser Loras. She accepted, for lack of any real leverage on the matter. At least he was a talented swordman, and having him beside her would probably convince her treacherous bannermen to give up on their ludicrous velleities of rebellion.

He was standing nearby, while she tried her best not to fall asleep. He looked… Strangely calm, for someone who was looking at his brother’s demise. He was looking right in front of him, seemingly lost in his thoughts, ignoring his sister’s insistent glance from the other side of the royal stand. She, on the other hand, could not help looking at him. He had prepared something, he must have, otherwise he would at least look worried – or, if convinced of his brother’s guilt by his sister, satisfied. But he did not. If anything, he looked just as bored as she did. He did not even seem to realize that the Hand of the currently non-existing king had called for a pause, before letting the accused party either call his own witnesses or say something in his own defence.

 

“Ser Jaime?” she called him. “The Lord Hand has ordered a suspension. Have you heard?

\- My apologies, Lady Shara,” he muttered, suddenly torn from his thoughts. “I must admit this trial…

\- Bores you to death?” She chuckled. “Well, if that is of any relief, it bores me as well. But are you not worried for your brother? I heard you were convinced of his innocence.

\- I am, but I also know my Lord father will not let him get away with this.”

 

He shrugged, unconcerned. _Or maybe he already discussed the matter with him,_ she thought. He might have negotiated something already. Ser Jaime Lannister had a very valuable leverage on his father – his position as a Sworn Brother. It was common knowledge that Lord Tywin hated the idea of having his bright, chivalrous son stuck in the Kingsguard with no possibility to marry and father children. Even though he had a wife to give him more heirs to ensure Casterly Rock would not befall his extended family, it was still a thorn on his side. _Perhaps he bargained a change of position, for a small amount of mercy for his brother._ How very touching of him – how very honourable. How very not in character, in too many regards.

The little time she spent talking to Lady Brienne helped her understand why exactly Jaime Lannister had changed. If he indeed journeyed with her the entire time, she must have reawakened the dreams and high expectations he might have had as a young knight – honour, loyalty, chivalry, all these values he forsook when he became the Kingslayer and realized how dreadful the world truly was. The woman was stubbornly adherent to a code of honour so rigid that it was nothing shy of overarching, the kind that led to the lines Jaime told her about, in the Red Keep’s sept. The self-betraying oaths they had him swear. _Maybe she reminded him of whom he wanted to be, before it all came down to a dead king._

 

“Apparently I am to escort you to the Vale,” he continued after a while. “The Lord Hand left me no choice in the matter. You would not know why exactly, perchance?

\- I suppose he is afraid some harm might come to me, while there. Or mayhap he thinks a change of air might be beneficial for you.

\- I will pretend I heard none of this very predictable lie.” He rolled his eyes. “Are you really trading information for information? Now?

\- I was not,” she admitted with a smile. “But if you are willing to tell me how exactly you can be so serene while your brother is slowly condemned to death, I may be willing to be a little more talkative on why you have to come with me.”

 

There was a silence. She watched Jaime Lannister processing the offer, wondering whether she actually knew anything about the real reason why he had to go as far as the Vale just for her and deciding that yes, she had to know. He sighed, turned away from the crowd and eyed her, secretive. She patiently waited for him to word whatever information he was going to convey as she pretended nothing was happening.

 

“I talked with our father,” he eventually said. “Bargained for Tyrion’s life. I made an offer he could not refuse.

\- An offer he could not refuse?” She raised an eyebrow. It took a second to sink in and she chuckled. “Or maybe he played you all along, Ser, to get exactly what he meant to?

\- Perhaps, but in any case Tyrion is safe from the chopping block.

\- And you will have to resign from the Kinguards, I suppose.” She caught his momentary surprise and smiled. “There is not a whole lot of things your father would be willing to barter for, Ser Jaime.

\- Not a whole lot of things, but you found each one of them yourself.”

 

 _More like he handed them to me, one by one,_ she thought. She shrugged and simply looked at the crowd gathered on each side of the central alley. Some courtiers had left the throne room but most of them had remained quite still – and they were looking at her. It was becoming usual now, to be stared at like some sort of curiosity. Except during the small Council’s reunions, she went everywhere the Lord Hand decided to go and it was becoming increasingly difficult to see him without her around. It was not something she decided to do: he was the one to insist she followed him around like some trophy to exhibit everywhere he went. During the wedding, before it all went south, he let do the conversations while simply observing and listening. _Given that he did not order me to stop and keep quiet, I imagine I did well._

It was satisfying, in a way, though she knew that what she said to Jaime also applied to her; Tywin Lannister appreciated her wits and seemed to particularly enjoy his husbandly rights to most of her nights, but it did not change anything to the true meaning of their union. The only way she had to keep herself completely safe was to give me heirs. It was the one and only condition he set.

 

“As for the reason why you have to come with me to the Vale,” she quickly continued when she saw the _judges_ return. “It has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Her grace and you.

\- What has she done again?

\- She threatened me. Your father is not very impressed, as you probably imagine.” She put up a decorative smile and exchanged a glance with Tywin. “He must be thinking about some sanction for that.

\- He, or you?”

 

She smirked, but replied nothing. He shook his head and she saw his jaw tensing for a while, until the Lord Hand declared the trial was to continue. _The crown has one last witness to call,_ he corrected. _Then the accused shall call his own or testify in his own defence._ As usual there were whispers at the sheer sound of his voice, but silence returned as said witness made her way to the witness stand. A woman, short and slim of waist, younger than Shara but obviously less clothed. _A whore?_ She frowned and looked around to see any sign of remembrance from anyone. The queen looked positively _ecstatic_ to see her and it was enough of a proof she brought her there herself. The imp looked horrified.

 _Wait a second…_ The more she looked at her, the more the girl reminded her of someone she had already seen. She was with Tyrion Lannister when he returned from the Vale and she became a maid, to his service first then to Lollys Stokeworth’s. Was he really so enthralled by the girl, that he actually kept her around once back in the Red Keep?

 

“You came to testify,” Lord Tywin eventually said, his voice clear and loud. “So do testify.

\- I…” The girl’s voice was that of a mouse, high-pitched and scared. “He plotted it, I know he did, as well as his sister’s death and his Lord father. Before long he also wanted to kill Prince Tommen, before he got too old.

\- Lord Hand,” prince Doran interrupted her, frowning. “You may say a lot of things about Lord Tyrion, but he is no stupid man. Why would he divulge such dreadful plans to a maid?

\- I overheard some, m’lord, but most of it he told me himself.” Silence. “I wasn’t only a maid, I was his whore.”

 

She could not pretend to be surprised. Maids were usually more covered than this girl was, and except when Lady Lollys actually stepped outside her room, she had never seen him anywhere. Whispers returned and she saw Doran Martell running a hand on his jaw, still frowning. _He sees clear through this ridiculous mascarade,_ she thought. _This man is simply too clever to even believe the girl decided to testify on her own._ She had no real sympathy for the Imp, and as far as she was concerned, the fewer Lannister she had around her, the better – but this was clearly a set-up. Lord Tyrell ordered the girl to continue to testify.

 

“On the morning of the wedding, he dragged me down downstairs, where they keep the dragon skulls and he fucked me there, with the monsters all around. When I cried he said I ought to be more grateful, because I was to be the king’s whore.” _This is painfully ridiculous._ The girl was starting to sob. “He said he would not let Joffrey know his bride the way he knew me.”

 

Looking up, she caught Jaime Lannister’s glance. He shook his head, ever so little not to be seen from afar. It was painful to watch and hear, all the details of the way they met and how he compelled her to become his whore – and she believed none of it. The girl had not just become a whore because of him, it was obvious. What she was doing was acting, her tears were just as fake as the quavers of her voice and made her even more desirable and _believable._ At some point, pushed to say even more gruesome details about his relationship with him while Tyrion Lannister became whiter and whiter, she admitted that he had her call him _her giant of Lannister._

And they screamed of laughter, all of them, everyone. Oswald Kettleback first, then the full Kingsguard except for Jaime, Cersei Lannister herself until it swelled to an uncountable amount of laughter. All the great Lords and Ladies, so distinguished and noble, all of them laughed and chortled. It was obscene and she knew she was not the only one thinking that much – Prince Doran did not laugh. Neither did Tywin Lannister. _He saved them,_ she thought. When he designed the wildfire plot, he saved King’s Landing and the Red Keep from Stannis Baratheon’s wrath. But it made no difference, after all. No more than the fact that she made sure his perfect plan would fail. _Let the cruel destroy the just, they say._

At some point he saw Tyrion screaming something but did not hear what he said. She just saw Tywin’s hand rising from the Iron Throne and, bits by bits, silence returned. _Get this lying whore out of my sight,_ he said when all laughter had died. _And I will give you my confession._ Gold cloaks appeared all around the girl who now looked frightened. Shara wondered what she was promised or threatened with. Did she have family she had to protect? Was she promised gold? Jewels? If Cersei was really in control of the situation, she would have her locked in the same gold cloaks’ barracks before long with even fewer clothes than now.

 

“Guilty,” he continued, staring right at his father. “So guilty. Is that what you wanted to hear?

\- You admit you poisoned the king?

\- Nothing of the sort. Of Joffrey’s death I am innocent. I am guilty of a more monstrous crime.” Despite his chains, he made a step toward the throne. “I was born and I lived. I am guilty of being a dwarf and no matter how many times my good father forgave me, I have persisted in my infamy.

\- This is folly, Tyrion,” the Hand of the king retorted, harsh and cold. “Speak to the matter at hand. You are not on trial for being a dwarf. Have you nothing to say in your defense?

\- You err, my Lord, if you think I have not been on trial for being a dwarf my entire life. As for your accusations I have nothing to say but this: I did not do it. Yet now I wish I had.”

 

He turned to face the crowd of now paling faces, declaring how much he wished he had enough poison for them all. How much he wished he had not saved them all. The amount of hatred and disgust in his voice was appalling to those who were laughing minutes before, but nowhere near surprising to the others. He paused, after he was done insulting the entire room and threatening them with the most painful death he could fathom, and turned to face the throne again.

But this time he was not looking at his judges or at his father, he was looking at her. She blinked, surprised, and saw other eyes copy him. She sat up, unable to predict what was going to happen for the first time in the day.

 

“I wish my _Lady goodmother_ had not been stopped, when she plotted to destroy the city with her former king.” He laughed cruelly. “You remember, of course, that had Littlefinger not warned us of her villainy, we would have all died under the late Stannis Baratheon’s flames?

\- Enough of that, Tyrion,” she heard Tywin order, harsher than before. “It is time we…

\- Not just yet, father, I have not yet said my part. I see your Lady wife has the same ice in her eyes as you, and mayhap just as much hatred for me.” _Just stop talking you monstrous creature, just stop._ “I wish you had succeeded, Lady Shara, to destroy this cesspool of a city filled with people more eager to reward felony and betrayal than loyalty. But perhaps now you realize there is more to gain in playing their games?

\- Your insults will not save you,” she retorted, now standing on her feet. “Your fate entertains me not, Lord Tyrion. Do not make me the scapegoat of your demise.

\- It is you who should have been judged, if the Gods were fair. You treacherous, backstabbing woman have managed to fool even the ruthless, unforgiving Lord Tywin Lannister through even more treachery and backstabbing. You are condemning me here for a death of a boy king, what should you say about this kingslayer?” He was positively spitting out his rage and fuelling hers. She clenched her fists. “Now I will say one more thing to you all, and you better remember it: you condemned me instead of this beautiful snake, but one day she will turn against you and tears will be all she will leave you with.

\- Enough!”

 

Tywin Lannister’s voice had rung high, clear and loud, an order like she had rarely heard before. The entire crowd fell silent, astonished, as his voice echoed under the high ceilings. She was quivering, trembling with anger. _I pitied him,_ she thought as her vision turned to red. _I tried to defend him._ And this was the way he repaid that? It took Jaime’s hand on her shoulder for her to sit again, as the gold cloaks pulled away the still screaming, yelling, _shouting_ accused. The great doors remained open and the room gradually emptied itself until there were only a few nosy noblemen and women left.

Shara remained still, ignoring Cersei Lannister’s victorious glance and most of the Tyrells’ barely veiled mockery. She was fuming. She had not felt this much hatred since the fateful day Tywin Lannister told her what Stannis Baratheon had done to her. She almost had forgotten the taste of blood in her mouth and the thirst for more – it had returned now. _Let him die,_ she mused, _whether he is innocent or guilty matters no longer._ Whatever his reason was for choosing her as his enemy today, he had made the wrong choice.

 

“My Lady,” she heard next to her. “It is late in the day, you should return to your chambers.

\- Is my Lord husband still there?

\- Yes, he is…

\- Then I shall wait for him.” She turned her head to the maid and planted her eyes in hers. “You may go. I will not need you tonight.

\- But my…

\- In case you truly are as witless as you look, when I say you may go, I mean you must go.”

 

She could have regretted her unnecessary harshness against the girl, but her wellbeing was truly something she _could not_ care less about. She blemished, curtsied deeper than she should have and disappeared as quickly as she could. Shara simply stood up and walked down the stand to wait for Tywin behind the throne. She heard whispers but understood no word – not that she cared. She regretted Jaime Lannister struck his deal with his father to spare his brother the fate that would have befallen him otherwise. All she wished for Tyrion Lannister was death, pure and simple.

A part of her mind, beyond her rage, was simply unable to understand _why_ he had thrown so bombastic a scene and _why_ against her in particular. They basically never exchanged more than a few pleasantries, and though she had no real interest in him she always recognized that he was smarter than he showed. As she waited for Tywin Lannister’s figure to appear, she let the events sink in. He was on trial for allegedly killing a king, thus betraying his family, the crown and the entire realm. He was going to be sent to the Wall to a certain death for that. _I have never been on trial, though I betrayed all of my oaths to my family, to the crown I defended and to the entire realm. I have never been punished for any of that._

Instead she paraded in sumptuous dresses, at the most powerful man of Westeros’ side. She had never been punished – never, ever. Her being a glorified prisoner for a few months was lacklustre compared to what she did, and it never got worse. It went better and better as she settled into her comfortable position and wallowed in the sins she was offered. As she realized just how much Tyrion’s situation was similar to hers, and yet so drastically different in outcome, her rage turned to her usual cold, dark feeling of guilt and panic. They were getting more sparse, those fits of sudden guilt, as time passed. _But worse every time they return._ She deserved what he told her. She was everything he said she was, if not worse. Her rage was nothing but clear-sightedness after spending weeks blinded by everything she gained when she decided to embrace the darkness her prisonership awakened in her.

 

“Lady Shara,” she heard on the other side of the throne. _Prince Doran._ She walked to join the judges. “Though I could hardly do anything about it, I am truly appalled that you had to withstand such abominations. How are you feeling?

\- I am fine, my prince, thank you for your consideration.” Her voice was flat, unadapted to the context, but her mind was elsewhere. “This was but the delirium of a cornered man. I pray the Gods will grant him peace of mind, once rightly punished.

\- As a sign of respect for Lord Tyrion’s illustrious family and name, we have decided to grant him the Wall.”

 

She almost rolled her eyes when she heard Mace Tyrell’s lofty and obsequious declaration. Tywin Lannister said nothing, he just stared at her with his hard, green eyes. She stared back. _I would not have been granted that much,_ she thought. _It was death or dishonour._ Obviously Tyrion had not been given the choice: he was not a beautiful, young yet guilty woman with the right family name and the right lands. He was just the hated son of a too powerful man, and he was just too innocent. She forced a polite smile.

 

“I trust my Lords’ judgement in the matter. I am sure wise minds like yours reached the best solution that could be.

\- We can now only hope it is.” Doran Martell’s eyes were gleaming with an unveiled curiosity. “I gathered you shall be gone by the morrow, my Lady, to your northern lands. I bid you farewell, then, for I will have returned to my own lands when you return.

\- It was an honour meeting you, my prince. I wish you a safe journey to Dorne.

\- And I you.” He turned to look at Tywin. “You are very busy man, of course, but know that your Lady wife is always welcomed in our palaces, would she ever so desire.

\- Your offer has been heard. We shall see when Lady Shara returns.”

 

His voice was flat as well, not any more uninterested in the offer than she was. She graciously thanked the prince and took the Hand of the king’s arm when he presented it. She followed him silently back to their tower, her insides now properly twisted, feeling as if she had just attended her own trial. _It should have gone this way._ She would have stepped out of it the same way, she would have accused all those she despised and hated before leaving with her chin high. _As high as honour._

Instead she returned to her lavish chambers where no bed had been installed yet, the way only innocent people should be able to. It was as if the Gods were mocking the fate they had their creatures learn. Where was the justice their priests preach the entire world about? Where was the Seven Hells they were supposed to have built for the cruel and the wicked? Where was the fair world they were supposed to live in, where fair people rule and cruel people die? Where good people live an easy life as they watch the wicked struggle? _Why is the cruel consuming the just, and why is the sins I wallow in not drowning me? Why is the wicked world I help create not burning down?_ When will it?


	15. And to want it is a crime

Nothing happened in the marital bed that night. Neither Tywin nor Shara were in the mood for anything but a very deep, heavy contemplative silence. _I suppose that is the way of this kind of things,_ she mused as she slipped under the sheets. _Condemning one’s son. Realizing that I could have been there myself._ If Tywin noticed her distress, he made no comment on it. The only words they exchanged concerned her departure on the morrow, before noon. He told her the escort he promised was ready to depart, as well as the ship to take them straight to Gulltown. King’s Landing’s harbour was not yet completely restored, but given that she did not need a heavy ship, he had decided to allow her to leave directly from the capital.

She had no idea what he was doing at the moment, though. He had things to take care of before sleeping, and she heard a few doors opening and closing in the meantime. _Better this way,_ she thought. _I am not in the mood for wits battle._ She just wanted to go to sleep and wake up to leave this nightmare of a city for a while. She missed her mountains more than ever before, tonight, and wished for nothing but their high stillness. She was exhausted by the Red Keep, by the Lannisters and their anger, hatred and doubts, by the war and its consequences, too numerous to keep count. She closed her eyes, weary, hoping for sleep to simply come to her and wash away the pain.

Instead, she heard a dull rumble, somewhere in the tower. She opened back her eyes and sat on the bed again to look around her. There was nothing but night around her, only disturbed by the golden hue of the hearth on the other side of the room. _Whatever was that?_ She frowned and pushed away the covers to walk to the nearest window. There was absolutely nothing outside, except for the usual guards patrolling around the tower of the Hand.

 

“My Lord?” she called when the rumble resumed. No answer came. As she turned to look at the other side of the chamber, she saw the hearth’s light dimming. She froze in place as she saw a small silhouette step out of the fireplace. “Lord Tyrion? Is that you?

\- So it is true what they say. You do sleep in the same bed.”

 

Astonished, she watched him as he walked toward her, cautiously remaining on the other side of the screens – probably in case she had a weapon to attack him with. _Which I have not,_ she mused bitterly. When he stepped into the little light there was in the room, she realized he was covered in soot and dust. _Who got him out?_ He was supposed to be locked in his cell, deep under the Keep where traitors are put, until they sent him with other felons to the Wall. The entire castle was convinced of his guilt, who could have decided to help him?

She found the answer only too quickly and scoffed, sombre. It could either be Jaime Lannister, but it made no sense for him to risk so much for probably so little a result – he had already ensured his survival, or it could be some dark ally of the Imp. There was only one of them she could imagine doing that sort of things. _The bloody Spider._ That may have been part of the scheme he hinted at, before the battle of Duskendale, or maybe he just had a special fondness for wicked things like him.

 

“What does the Spider hope you will accomplish here?

\- Many a thing I suppose. Are you afraid you might be one of them?

\- No, I am not. The Spider does have a plan in mind for me, but it is a long-term one.” She walked closer to him, ignoring how feeble she must have looked with only her nightshirt on. “But mayhap you are here on your own volition after all. Are you here to kill, Lord Tyrion?

\- Would it disturb you if I was?”

 

 _I see nothing disturbing in the idea of a convicted murderer stepping into my chambers through the hearth in the middle of the night, no._ She said nothing for a while. It was neither really disturbing nor surprising to hear that he was, indeed, planning to kill his father. Not only was he judge and prosecutor, but he also made sure this trial would be a farce. He seized the opportunity to get rid of a son he despised ever since he was born. There was an undeniable amount of poetic justice in the idea of the hated son killing his father, especially when the father was so much of a monster.

And he was there for no other reason – she was no fool. If Varys told him not to kill her just yet, then he would try to convince her to let it happen. To say nothing, pretend to be asleep and let him kill his father. _He deserves no less,_ she thought. But he has been rather adamant on one thing during his trial: so did she.

 

“Are you going to ask me to step away and let you do what you are here to do, Lord Tyrion?

\- See, Lady Shara, that is the reason why I am actually quite sad we never got along,” he smirked, his distorted face made even more monstrous by the shadows cast upon it. “You may be the smartest person in this bloody castle.

\- And yet you have been quite clear on your hatred for me. What a curious way to show your sadness.

\- I do not hate you. Not really, anyway.” He frowned. “What I hate is what they allowed you to do after you tried to kill us all, and what they are trying to do to me for something I did not do.

 _\- They_ means nothing. _They_ make no decision,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “He does.”

 

No need to say who _he_ was – both of them knew only too well. In both cases the decision was Tywin Lannister’s, and his alone. He did not make a single move. He was not nearly done with his attempt to win her over and he had barely begun to talk. She, on the other hand, had no idea how to react. A few months earlier she would have not hesitated: she would have seized the occasion and probably even helped him, if he had offered her to get rid of the most fearsome man of the realm both figuratively and literally. She had someone to go back to, back then.

But this someone was dead now, his bones stripped from his flesh and on their way to Storm’s End. If Tywin Lannister died, she had nowhere to go, nothing to do, no one to return to. It was a frightening thought: for the most part, he was all she had left.

 

“Yes, he makes every decision here,” he admitted. “But perhaps that could change. I have seen you grow, Shara Arryn, from child to woman. Your father...

\- I am quite done with people using my father as a weapon against me, Lord Tyrion. Nothing you could say can be worse than what I have already been told.

\- Nothing I can possibly say can be worse than what you already tell yourself.” There was a light in his dark eyes, the kind of gleam she usually saw in his father’s gaze. “You may be smart, but I am as well and you cannot fool me so easily. My father is a very persuasive man and I have no doubt he found many ways to make your condition seems sweeter than it really is. What did he promise you? Wealth is not what you are after. Power, then? Some semblance of it?

\- Enough gabbing. Play your cards before I get tired of waiting.”

 

In some uncanny, almost eerily way, Tyrion Lannister resembled his father more than the both of his siblings combined. That was another proof of the Gods’ wickedness, to choose _this_ son to be so much like _this_ father in mind, but not in body. If placed in a body even half as beautiful as his brother’s, Tyrion might have been the greatest pride of his father. Instead of that, he was his greatest shame. _The Gods be good,_ she mused. _But the Gods mostly have a curious sense of humour._

Contrary to his father, though, she saw clear through his game. He was trying to get her to understand that however tarnished and ruined her honour was, she could redeem in helping him destroying the great Lord of Casterly Rock. She could make up for everything he had her do, spare herself more stains and pain – leave the Red Keep for good, to never return. A few weeks earlier she would not have hesitated either: she would have closed her eyes, pretended she saw nothing, cried her eyes out that he threatened her, if it meant sparing her soul the damage a full alliance with the Lannisters meant. She had illusions to maintain, back then.

These illusions were gone now. The only reason why she was still better than Tywin Lannister was her youth and his old age – otherwise, she was walking the same path as he had been his entire life. Killing him would not even feel as satisfying as it might have, these few weeks before, and it would not be a victory like it would have been months before. It would just be a waste of her time. But obviously Tyrion Lannister did not know that: he still believed she was compelled to be here, threatened of some harm by a husband she did not choose. That was one of the few things that made him so different from his father; as he was a good, generally righteous man, he expected everyone who was not his family to be good and generally righteous. A man like him could not imagine she had chosen this.

 

“You do not have to strike him yourself,” he said quietly. “All you have to do is to return to your bed and look away. In the morrow you can blame me, curse me, pretend I did every atrocious things your mind can fathom to you. And by a week time, you shall be free from the Lannister’s claws.

\- Free to do what, Lord Tyrion?

\- Return to your mountains, live the life you always meant to live.” _He really believes that,_ she realized. _Heart-breaking. And ridiculous._ “The realm may not know that you helped getting rid of a monster, but you would. When the time is right, you could claim that much. You do not have to live your entire life by the rules he imposed you, Shara Arryn. You could resume your life the way your honourable family always did.”

_How very charming._ For a while she made not a single sound, she simply looked at him. It was a nice tale he was narrating for her. Obviously he ignored that she _could have_ chosen to return to her mountains and live her life the way her honourable family always did. But how could a man like, despised like he was by the entire world, would imagine she had this choice in the first place? He interpreted her silence as hesitation, then as silent consent. A gentle smile appeared on his lips and he made another step toward her, his hand extended as to shake hers. She lowered her eyes to look at it for a few seconds.

And giggled. Chuckled, mockingly, as he froze. She was stalling for time, hoping that Tywin would return to the main chamber before Tyrion decided to take action. They were mostly whispering until now, but she made no effort not to be heard this time. She hid her smirk with the hand he meant to shake and shook her head.

 

“See, Lord Tyrion, that is the reason why you and I could have never gotten along,” she said. “You are so very convinced of your family overarching villainy that you cannot imagine others can share it. Did you really think your father left me no other choice than to remain married to him?

\- You are his prisoner. He could not…

\- I _was_ his prisoner. Why do you think I accepted to help him getting rid of Stannis Baratheon? Did you really believe he could have _forced me_ to betray him?

\- I…” For the first time, Tyrion Lannister seemed unsettled, disturbed. “You cannot possibly have chosen to remain his wife. Not you.

\- Why? You say he is a monster, and I wholeheartedly agree with that judgement. But what, pray tell, does that make me for you?” She closed the distance between them, not so much to be closer to him but rather to be closer to the door where the guards were posted. “I, who ensured the Starks would die at the Twins? I, who sent Sansa Stark to the North to be used as a pawn? I, who encouraged your father to use wildfire against Stannis’ army and caused Duskendale’s massacre? Are you absolutely certain my soul can be saved, Lord Tyrion, simply by killing a more monstrous monster than I am?”

 

She had forced her voice to remain as flat as possible, but pretending she did not care about the terrible things she did did not change a thing about her underlying guilt. Pretending to be heartless was easier than explaining that despite how broken she felt, she had no better alternative than remaining by Tywin’s side and using the leverage she had on him to gain power over the realm proper. She had gone too far already to stop there, and she had no wish to be another Jaime Lannister.

 

“You are loathing yourself,” he retorted. “But that is no reason to support him. He would not do the same for you and he will never.

\- Well, that is something you will never know I suppose.” She smiled. Her heart was beating desperately slowly. _Once you scream, there is no turning back._ “You should have left King’s Landing, my Lord, when you had the chance.

\- Do not do that. I am offering you a way out, nothing good can come out of…

\- Guards! Guards, an intruder!”

 

Everything happened very quickly – too quickly for her to really realize every what happened. Tyrion dashed across the room, towards the wall where Tywin had suspended weapons, and seized a crossbow. The guards practically smashed open the door and rushed to stop him, but instantly stopped when he aimed at her. On the other side of the room, another door opened and Tywin stepped into the chamber in his nightshirt and leather pants. The guards screamed orders, all of them different. _Release the crossbow! Let go of the crossbow! Turn away from her!_ She remained dramatically still, absolutely aware that any wrong move would kill her instantly.

Tywin Lannister, on the other hand, seemed as calm as ever. If he was surprised, or afraid, or angry, he gave no hint about it. He just stepped inside the room, in the middle of the chamber, to look at the scene his son was making. If anything, he looked annoyed, not worried. She looked at him, expecting no reaction but hoping Tyrion was wrong. _He better do the same for me,_ she thought. _Or I am as good as dead._

 

“Put my crossbow down,” he ordered, his voice as cold as usual. “Away from Lady Shara.

\- Will you punish me if I refuse, father? Or maybe your so very loyal wife will?

\- This escape is folly. You are not to be killed, if that is truly what scares you.” Tywin darted her a glance, as to ensure she had been harmed. She shook her head. “It is still my intent to keep my word to your brother and send you to the Wall, but it will not last long if you do not put the crossbow down.

\- See, father, we were just talking about that with your Lady Shara.” He turned his head to his father and stopped looking at her. She slowly turned hers to the guards and gestured her to move toward him _slowly_. “She just made the unfathomable decision to spare your life. How very touching of her, really, when we all know that you would not do anything to spare hers.

\- You would not have the courage to pull the trigger,” Tywin retorted, scornful. “Not against a woman anyway.

\- When the woman is as dreadful a person as you are, father, I see no problem in killing her as well as you.”

 

She tried her best to keep her composure and not let panic take over her, but the crossbow was still very much aimed at her and the guards were still far away from Tyrion. Tywin never moved his eyes away from him, though he obviously saw what his men were doing. She had been rather sure of her choice until now – now she could not help wondering if she had been right to adamantly refuse to let him do his deed. _There is no turning back_ , she thought again. _So there is no thinking back about it._

 

“But in one regard your Lady wife is right, I was a fool for thinking she was the victim here,” he spat out again, darting her too quick a glance to notice the men behind him. “When she is clearly one of the monsters.

\- Put the crossbow down at once, Tyrion, before I change my mind about the Wall.

\- But maybe I do not want to go to the Wall, father.” His entire focus was now on his father, though he kept his aim on her. “It is bloody cold up there and I believe I have had enough coldness from you.

\- Would you disregard your brother’s effort to save your meaningless, worthless life?”

_For the Gods’ sake, will he stop insulting the man who holds the weapons here?_ She tried to ignore what was going on on their side of the room, focusing on what the guards were doing. One of them was now at leap-length from Tyrion, and probably could seize him if he acted very quickly. Her experience with Tywin Lannister’s guards did not give her faith that he could, actually, be useful. He darted a glance at her, as if expecting an order. She had no idea what to do.

She technically could ask him to dash on Tyrion, hoping that he would be too focused on his conversation with his father to react. But there was a chance the bolt would be released, and she was in the firing line. _But there is no way this ends well if I do not take a chance,_ she realized. The longer the conversation went, the higher the risks of Tyrion shooting either at her or at his father. Given the rising tension in the room, it had already gone too long in this regard. So, after a while, she gave the order – a simple nod, really, was all it took.

The nearest guard leaped on Tyrion who, as she hoped he would, only realized what was happening when it was too late to do anything. The other guard instantly joined the first and the three of them fell on the paved ground as she quickly turned to get away from the crossbow’s firing line. She broke eye contact for a second, but it was all it took for the weapon to whang and release its bolt. Another second later, she felt a sharp pain tearing through her left arm as she reached the other side of the room, behind one of the screen. A hand on her arm was enough to understand that, somehow, the bolt had reached its target. She winced and groaned in pain. Unable to see what was going on on the other side of the screen, she guessed by the noises that they had seized the crossbow and were dragging Tyrion towards the door as he kicked and bolted, screaming at his father and her.

 

“You are no son of mine, Imp,” Tywin Lannister eventually said when silence returned. She saw their shadowy figures behind the screen. “And by the morrow you will be dead.

\- Twice wrong, _father_ , for I believe I am you writ small.” He bolted again, and kicked, and eventually something happened that allowed him to escape the guards’ grip. He rushed away, and she saw him by the hearth again. The trapdoor was still open. “And I believe I have a ship to catch.”

 

He dived into the fireplace and vanished. _Seize him!_ Doors banged around, she heard voices screaming outside, but it all seemed faint compared to the pain she felt everywhere in her arm. The bolt had not pierced through, but it had left a gash on her arm’s side that was bleeding profusely. _A few inches to the right,_ she thought, _and it would have been my heart._ She gulped and moaned as she tried to stop the bleeding.

It caught Tywin’s attention, and suddenly he seemed to realize she was still there. He walked past the screen and knelt down next to her to look at her wound. Concern flashed over his face for barely a second before he headed to the door to order some remaining guard to immediately get Pycelle. She felt faint, but she mostly felt dizzy. She was not used to the sight of blood, and the anxiety of the situation was now washing over her. When Tywin Lannister returned, she winced and gestured the corner of the room where Tyrion was.

 

“I am always so glad to get to know your children,” she groaned. “Each of them have their own peculiarities, equally aimed at killing me.

\- The guards will stop him and he shall be executed tomorrow morning. I have been far too patient with him, it is time it stops.

\- If the eunuch is truly involved in this…” She sat straighter, trying to disregard the pain. “There is no way any of your men can stop him.

\- The eunuch?

\- Who else could it be?”

 

They stared back at each other for a few seconds and she saw his jaw clenching. Realization struck as he offered her his hand to stand. She grabbed it and tried to stand but her legs wobbled and her knees suddenly seemed to weak to support her weight. As she was starting to collapse, mostly unable to see anything around but blurry shadows, she felt two arms holding her shoulders tight and basically carrying her on the bed, to sit once again. _Seven Hells,_ she thought. _You can cause all the wars you want, but when it comes to a stupid gash on the arm…_ She felt weak and stupid, held in place by Tywin Lannister not to simply crumble down on the ground.

After a while she found her composure and nodded her head for him to release her. One of his hands lingered on her shoulders, as his eyes detailed every traits of her face. When he saw her staring back, he turned away to lean against the dressing table, his arms crossed on his chest, his usual scowl on his face. She chuckled when she felt strong enough to, and it only reinforced his frown.

 

“You know that you should be smiling, do you not?

\- And why should I be smiling?” His voice was stern, unamused by her humour. “What the Gods decided to be my son and curse embodied has just tried to kill me and, lest you forget, you as well. If you are right about the eunuch’s involvement, then indeed he will get away with it. I see no smiling matter here.

\- Well, you could have died tonight, my Lord, and you did not.

\- Are you expecting any measure of thankfulness from my part?”

 

 _So he heard._ In the heat of the moment she did not realize that, wherever he was, he could not have missed the entirety of the conversation she had with Tyrion before she called the guards. Obviously he heard at least some of it, if not everything. She chuckled even more. _And he did nothing,_ she thought. _Until he was absolutely sure I was not going to turn against him._ She shook her head slowly and yet it was enough for her to feel dizzy again. She wondered how many loyalty tests she would have to pass before he actually accepted to see her as anything but a vague threat, dim yet persistent.

 

“Would you have let me die, had I hesitated?” she asked, calmly. “Would you have waited for him to pull the trigger, before stepping out of wherever you were?

\- I did none of these things, did I?

\- But you would have.” She smiled, a lopsided smile he almost returned. She saw the corners of his lips twitching. “How does it feel, Lord husband, to see just how much your monstrosity has already rubbed off on me? Good, I suppose?

\- Does it bother you?”

 

 _Yes. No. Yes. Perhaps. It should._ She had no clear answer for this question, for it was a question she asked herself only too often these days. She doubted too much, questioned too many things – she could not answer him so frankly. Or so she thought, anyway. As she stared back at those shining emerald eyes of his, eyes that hardly ever looked away from her anymore when she was around, she started to think the answer might become easier to find with time. Maybe, one day, she would just accept to see that if monstrosity is the price to be paid for _this_ , all _this_ , then it is a fair price. A price she had paid countless times already, even before Tywin Lannister stepped into her existence. It was an eerily feeling, really, to feel like she belonged where she was, and it was something she had never felt before. _I am exactly where I am meant to be,_ she mused.

 

“It probably should,” she eventually said, truthful in the end. “It has. I am no sure if it does anymore. Soon enough it will not.

\- Then mayhap it was always a part of you, Lady wife. Why should I be responsible for your slyness and tendency to sacrifice anyone who is not you?

\- There is always a dark side to everyone, but not everyone flips the coin this side up.” She looked down at her wound and grimaced. “You helped me flip the coin.

\- And you just ensured the monster in the room would survive what some would consider a fitting punishment for his crimes.” This time, he did smile. Conniving, as if they were sharing deep and dark secrets. “So I assume you like this side of the coin.

\- It feels more powerful than the meek side, indeed.”

 

They exchanged a smile and silence followed as he walked closer. He knelt in front of the bed to be able to face her at the same height, and slip his fingers in her hair, by her neck. She leaned unto his hand, not really sure what he meant to do. The sharp pain of her pain distracted her from the almost uncanny intensity in his gaze, but she did not miss it. She lost sight of it when he inclined his head to almost kiss her jaw – without ever actually kissing it. She just felt his lips close to her skin and his breath on her neck. She closed her eyes and smiled. _This is the power I never thought I would have. Power over him._

 

“Just promise me something, _Tywin_ ,” she breathed. “That this side of the coin, yours and mine, is not going to kill me. Prove your curse of a son wrong and do for me what I did for you.

\- This is the last wound I allow you to have.” His voice was low, feral. “No harm will ever come to you again.

\- And what would happen, otherwise? To anyone who would harm me?

\- Death.” No kiss, but teeth, nipping at her skin. Smouldering breath. “Pain. More than you can imagine.

\- I will hold you to that promise.

\- I expect no less.”

 

With her eyes closed she could only feel that his lips were gradually getting closer and closer to her own. _He never kissed my lips,_ she thought. The pain of her arm was almost gone when his lips reached the corner of hers and…

Knocks on the door broke the spell. In a matter of seconds, Tywin was away from her, back against the dressing table and ordered the intruder to enter. Nothing seemed to have happened, when it came to him. It took her more time to snap back to normal after what _could have_ happened. _The Gods get me rid of that stupid maester._ As he gave orders to the old man, mentioning that she was to leave in a matter of hours for the Vale, she realized that there may have been worse thing than simply accepting that this was the life she always meant to live, the place she always meant to have. Now she wanted more – more of this life, more of this place, more of this husband. And it was worse indeed. And it was intoxicating and she never wanted it to end. _Never._


	16. The sound of silence

The following morning, as it was supposed to be, she was on the harbour’s dock, waiting for her ship to be ready to depart. It was as if nothing had happened – and it had to be like nothing had happened. Tywin did not need to say anything for her to understand. She hid her bandaged arm under a light cape she had wrapped around her shoulders and stood tall and proud under a few curious courtiers’ gaze. He stood beside her and watched the workers lifting chests on the ship’s deck, checking every single rope and reporting to the captain. _A man I trust,_ he simply said when she asked who he was.

Jaime Lannister, nearby, had a rather bored look on his face. Sombre, as well, and she imagined why rather easily. She was almost certain his sister had stormed about their father’s decision to send him to the Vale with her, _her, of all people!_ , and Tyrion’s escape could not help his mood. He said nothing, though, and was rather talented in pretending he cared about nothing at all. _Too bad it is obvious to anyone who knows where to look._

 

“The sixty men of your escort will answer to your orders,” Tywin eventually said, breaking the silence between them. “And to Jaime’s, if need be.

\- If my orders are too stupid to be followed, you mean?” She chuckled. “I asked for fifty men, not sixty.

\- You are stepping into enemy territory, as far as we know. It warrants more than just a few men to keep you company.

\- Sixty men are certainly a lot more impressive than fifty,” she sneered. She rolled her eyes when she saw Tywin’s glower. “I know why you did not add more to the count, do not look at me like that. No invasion of my own lands.”

 

He turned his eyes away, apparently not impressive by her attempt at humour. When she looked around, she noticed Jaime’s gaze on her. He did not turn away when she returned the stare, he simply nodded to greet her. _Well, hello to you too._ She could not help feeling a twitch of guilt at the idea of knowing exactly _why_ he was following her up north and not staying in King’s Landing. She could hardly tell him, not yet anyway, for he would probably find a way to thwart his father’s plan and keep his sister within the Red Keep – and she could not take that risk.

At some point the captain gestured Tywin to come. He darted her a look before climbing on the deck to talk to him. Jaime slowly walked closer, seemingly to look at the ship more closely. She cleared her throat and pretended to do the same.

 

“How do you feel?

\- Why the question?

\- The night has been trying for everyone,” she replied, shrugging. “After everything you did to ensure your brother’s life would be spared… Now there is a bounty on his head for trying to kill your father.

\- And you, from what I have been told.” He looked at her wounded arm. “So I return your question. How do you feel?

\- It stings when I move too fast. But it is just a flesh wound, really.”

 

He nodded, to her and himself. His eyes were completely lost in space, probably like his mind was lost in thoughts. Today more than ever, there was more severity in him than ever. More gravity as well. Jaime Lannister was a soldier whose war had ended the day he lost his sword hand, but he was not done with battles yet. None of them were ever done with battles, especially with the worst of them. _The one we wage against ourselves._ She wondered what he could be thinking at this very moment. Was he wondering what he could have done to stop Tyrion? To stop Tywin from persecuting his own son, his brother? Or perhaps he was wondering what would happen to Cersei once away from the capital.

As for her, she was wondering what would happen to _him_ , once returned to the capital. He would resign from the Kingsguard, obviously, since Tyrion’s escape changed nothing to the punishment that awaited him once the trial over. But after that? Would he be sent back to Casterly Rock, to rule it for his father? To Lannisport, to take over the city? In both cases, there would only be two Lannisters left in the capital: the Hand of the king and his wife. She was not sure how she felt about that, though.

She had no time to further her inner questions since Tywin returned with the captain. He bowed down before both her and Jaime, respectfully, and announced that the ship was ready to leave the docks before returning to his ship. She watched him calling all his sailors on the deck while the twenty Lannister men started to embark.

 

“Lady wife,” he said in a voice loud enough for the courtiers to hear. “I wish you a safe journey to your lands, and success in your affairs.

\- I shall pray the Seven Gods for His majesty’s first weeks as king to be peaceful and wise, and for the realm’s affairs to be successful as well.

\- Son, from now on and up until Lady Shara has returned you are deemed his protector. His majesty would appreciate regular reports on her safety.

\- It shall be done.” Jaime bowed the neck with a glance at her. “But I am quite certain Lady Shara is more than able to keep herself safe.

\- Then I am confident nothing will happen to her.”

 

There was a warning in the way Tywin spoke. _You better no let anything happen to her,_ it meant, _or else…_ She curtsied elegantly, a smile on her lips she knew he would understand. If he did, he did not show it. He just took her hand and kissed her fingers, courteously and chastely. He kept her hand in his to help her step unto the platform that led to the deck. Hidden from most courtiers’ gaze, she felt his thumb caressing the back of her hand. She answered by squeezing his hand a tad more, for a brief second. They exchanged a long stare that meant much more than just a safe journey. _Do what you must with the traitor. Return safely. Do what you must with your daughter. Make sure I am safe when I return._

When he released her hand, she refrained from looking back but heard low voices. He said something to his son, but she did not distinguish what as she walked on the deck. All the sailors bowed respectfully until she graciously gestured them to stand and the captain asked her to follow him to her cabin. This time she looked back, one last time, at her husband who stood just as stiffly as before. He nodded and so did she before stepping into the cabin.

It was austere, as all cabins are, but it had been made rather comfortable. The bed seemed quite nice and it was tightly done. Her clothes had already been put inside the small closet and a mirror had been installed above a very small wooden table. There were books in the shelves above the bed. She smiled when she recognized whose books it was – hers. Tywin had given her books back, and most of them were proudly lined up on the shelves. _Finally._ She thanked the captain for his efforts and waited for him to be gone to sit on the edge of the bed.

She had not journeyed in a ship for years and she had not seen the Vale in just as many years. She was not sure what she would find here, other than rebellious bannermen and a treacherous bird. Lord Royce had not answered any of her letters in weeks so she had no idea wherever he was still alive, and if so, still loyal to her. Tywin had informed her that a group of nobles had risen in opposition to Petyr Baelish, with no more details on who and where they were. _Information travel very slowly these days,_ she mused as she looked through the porthole. The harbour grew smaller and smaller as the ship left the capital. If the sea was good and the winds steady, they would be in Gulltown in four days. The only thing she could hope for now was to find allies there, possibly in Lord Gerold Grafton himself. Given the friendship between Litteflinger and him, though, she did not entertain too much of hope.

She was searching for a book to pick when she heard knocking on her door. Jaime Lannister entered after she told him to, and closed it behind him. He had stripped from his heavy golden armour to put on a lighter leather doublet, more adapted to a ship. She gestured him to sit and closed the book she was holding. He had dropped most of his act and no longer hid his concern. He had cut his hair short before leaving, for practical purpose and to hide the few grey strands of hair he now had, and his beard was actually pretty impressive in its thickness and gold. _Speaking of resemblance with his father,_ she thought. _In a few years he will be his spitting image._

 

“I hope you find your cabin to your liking,” he simply said after a while. “Your Lord husband has given very strict orders as to how it had to be arranged.

\- I gathered that much. It is very comfortable.” She let silence return. “You look concerned, Ser. Is there a problem?

\- With all due respect, my Lady, if there were a problem you probably would be the last person I would be willing to tell.

\- He is not there to hear you and I am not his obedient little spy,” she shrugged, ignoring the slight. “You obviously do not have to tell me anything, but you must be here for a reason.”

 

He looked away, uncomfortable. It was really a strange thing to witness, the way Jaime Lannister could still pretend to be the brash, brilliant knight he always was, and a second later drop everything and look vulnerable and hesitant. If the Starks were truly responsible for that change, then they may have won at least a part of their war – the golden son of Tywin Lannister was no longer so golden anymore. He took a deep breath and shook his head before looking at her again.

 

“The court whispered about what happened tonight. They say Tyrion tried to convince you to let him kill our father.” There was no question, so she said nothing until he actually asked one. “Is that true?

\- It is.

\- And you refused?

\- I did.” He scoffed, bitterly, before she could continue. “Would you have preferred me to grant him his request?

\- No, of course no. But after everything he did, everything our family did to you… I would have expected you to at least look away.”

 

 _Well, I am getting a tad unpredictable lately._ She did not comment, for she was not certain what he wanted her to say. The way he spoke did not sound like a reproach of any kind, simply like… Surprise. Uncertainty, as for why she acted the way she did. _Would he have look away?_ Placed in her situation, would he have let his brother kill their father if he had done to him even half the things he did to her? Thinking about it, she realized _he had_ done to him a whole lot of things. Compelling him to give up on his position as Lord Commander and to become the golden heir he always wanted, sending him to fight wars he probably would have rather avoided, and in a more or less close future, sending him away to turn into something else than the Kingslayer. _Turn into… Nothing._ Like his sister, whom he was going to send away as well. She looked away, through the porthole.

 

“If I had done that,” she slowly said. “If I had let him kill your father, what do you think would have happened to me?

\- Probably nothing. After a while you would have been sent back to the Vale, I suppose.” She chuckled, sombrely. He frowned. “What?

\- You really are blinded, are you not? With your father dead and Tyrion escaped, who do you think your sister would have been designed as the culprit?” She looked at him again. He had lowered his eyes. “Tyrion said the same thing, you know, that it would grant me freedom at last. Hearing that shameless lie from him did not surprise me, but from you?

\- So you chose to remain on the Lannister side rather than tempt fate?

\- Last time I tempted fate, it hardly went as planned. Better the monster you know than the one you ignore.”

 

Silence resumed. His eyes turned darker and darker, until they looked like two pools of ink staring at the wall. She could not possibly know what exactly he was thinking, or what he was remembering, but she felt a sting of guilt she could not explain. She tried to find a way to apologize for whatever memory she had triggered, but nothing seemed to ring right to her ear – so she kept quiet, and waited for the darkness behind his eyes to vanish. Gradually, the Jaime Lannister she was used to see returned and it was somehow more disturbing than the vulnerability he showed. His displayed confidence seemed off, now.

 

“What do you wish to accomplish in the Vale, exactly?” he asked, completely changing the subject as if nothing just happened. “Oust Baelish, crush whatever rebellion your bannermen are trying to foment and call it a day?

\- I need some place to send my goodbrother as a ward, when I am done with the main problem.

\- His mother?

\- His so-called goodfather in the first place,” she smirked. “But indeed, his mother is also part of the problem.

\- What about her, then?”

 

 _If I could redo the Rains of Castamere and call it the Rains of the Eyrie,_ she mused, _I would._ But she could not, and as she told Tywin, she wished not to be called kinslayer. She needed a contact in Riverrun, to make sure her birth house would take her back if she sent her. She knew Ser Edmure had returned there, after the Red Wedding, and refused to leave the castle to the Freys who were supposed to be given the castle and, incidentally, the suzerainty over the Riverlands.

It was a mistake. The Freys had been useful, but giving them the Riverlands was a mistake – much like the North would not accept any non-Stark Lord, it was absolutely ridiculous to even think that the Riverlands would accept _House Frey_ as its liege house. Especially after what they did, but Tywin would not listen to her on this matter. As if it were a matter of honour to reward a house as vile as House Frey.

 

“I wanted to send her back to Riverrun to her brother and uncle,” she eventually said. “But with your father’s plan regarding the castle, it seems compromised.

\- Ha, yes, the siege.” He scoffed, bitterly. “When back from your journey, he wants to send me to lay siege to Riverrun until the Tullys give up.

\- This is stupid.” He darted her a surprised glance. “What? Do you really think I have any part whatsoever in this ridiculous plan?

\- Well, I suppose I should have known it was not yours. Usually the world discovers your plan when it is too late to foil them.”

 

They both chuckled and did not try to stop silence from returning. It was quite comfortable, in a way, to have this silence between them. She never ceased to be amazed by the strange understanding Jaime and her had, when they found themselves alone together. Perhaps the journey home would not be so unbearable, after all. He was an unlikely ally, but the little time she had spent with him since he returned showed her a side of him she did not know existed.

 

“You know,” he said, tearing her away from her thoughts. “Of all the people who fought this war, I would have never bet you would be the most victorious one.

\- Some would say your father is. Why me?

\- When is my father anything but?” He smirked. _Gods,_ she found herself thinking. _How is it even possible to be this handsome?_ She immediately shrugged off the thought. “You climbed your way to the throne, managed to stay there despite everything we did to you and now you whisper in the ear of the most powerful man of the realm. How is that not a victory?

\- A true victory would be an actual crown on my head, Ser, and an actual throne to sit on. Not just shadows of these things.

\- You are someone who did not die when she should have, and yet you make demands? You are more of a Lannister than I thought.”

 

 _Someone who did not die when she should have,_ she repeated mentally. It rung true – too true to be just rhetoric. When he noticed her seriousness despite the joke, his face darkened again, just a bit, just enough for her to notice. He was not really talking about her, not only. He was the one who did not die when he should have, twice already. During the Sack. With the Starks. Missing death is not something one get away with easily, she had understood, and one is always changed by the experience. The Shara she used to be would not understand the Shara she was now, and the Jaime he was then would not understand the Jaime he was now. She was getting used to that, of course, but mayhap it was something one could not just ignore. Just push away.

 

“When do you think you should have died?” she asked after a while. “Fifteen years ago, when your father sacked King’s Landing? A year ago, when the Starks imprisoned you?

\- Both of these times, really. Not that it would have changed anything in the long-term if I had, of course.” There was a silence, a moment of realization. He was going to say something but did not. “But instead, here I am and here you are. Never quite thought undead could be so dashing.

\- I take that compliment, but I do not believe that it would not have changed anything if you had died, at least the first time. You ended a war, all by yourself. It could have lasted months if…

\- It would not have.”

 

She stopped, startled. She was not expecting such a clear-cut answer, with such a stern voice. _Is that what he was going to say?_ There was something, there _had to be_ something to justify his mood changes every time they talked about choices, consequences… And the Mad King. It was a frustrating feeling, to feel so close to the reason why he refused to talk about it and yet so far. It was like getting to touch a smoke screen, only to see it thicken even more. He did not want to talk about it, obviously, but he kept on returning to this subject somehow.

She wondered if she was the reason. Did she remind him of someone? _Of himself?_ She did not remember much from the end of the rebellion, she was too young and too uninterested in these very powerful people. She did not remember if he looked as tormented as she sometimes felt. She did not remember if he even looked as haunted as _he_ sometimes did.

 

“Something happened in the throne room, that night,” she carefully tried. “Something that triggered your reaction.

\- A completely mad king happened. That is no news, my Lady.

\- Something else, something more than that. You did nothing for so long, it cannot be his madness alone.” His face tensed. It was almost painful to watch, a man reminiscing the darkest days of his life. _The youngest as well._ “You never said anything about what happened before you killed him. No one knows exactly, and yet you hesitate every time we get to speak about it.

\- Ha.” He scoffed, bitter. “We shall see if you easily talk about what happened these last months in fifteen years, if you really wish to explain why the entire Stark family had to die, why the entire Baratheon lineage had to go extinct, why you went on a crusade against Petyr Baelish, why you had to participate in the monstrosities set up by a husband you did not choose. And as you are not done with all these, there might be even more unpleasant things for you to remember and refuse to speak of.”

 

She accepted the hit and clenched her jaw. She had it coming, obviously, when she decided to insist and probe. It did not change anything to the pain and shame, and it did not mean that he was wrong. With time she would get used to this legacy she had constituted for herself, but she would gradually feel more and more unwilling to discuss it. For now it was just the present time, they were just starting to see and feel the consequences of her choices – in fifteen years, it would be long past. Perhaps House Stark would have been rebuilt by Lady Sansa, perhaps some other house would have replaced House Baratheon. No one would remember Petyr Baelish and his ridiculous rebellion, and the consequences of Tywin Lannister’s decisions would be long suffered. As for the rest, as for the things she had not yet done, it would be the same.

 _So this is why he talks about it with me,_ she realized. Because he could have been her, if he had someone like himself to talk to back then – someone to _understand_ the weight of the terrible choices he had made and the pain of their consequences. Someone to _know_ how high the punishment should have been, how much death was warranted, but acknowledged that people like them never got to experience the punishments. He was drawn to her by this feeling of likeness, and so was she. But he knew the full story about her – she did not know the full story about him. _But again, does anyone?_

After a while he shook his head, sighting. He rose from the seat he had eventually taken and returned to the door. Now he looked older, wearier than the young man he still was. Exhausted. She felt guilty and she almost stood to stop him from leaving, for a reason she could not exactly identify. She wanted him to stay, she wanted to continue this conversation and know _why_ he had accepted to spend his life called the Kingslayer, _why_ no one knew what happened in the throne room. She wanted to see more of this secret side of him she started to understand. All she did was calling him.

 

“Jaime, wait.” He froze and turned his head to her. “I suppose I deserved that. I apologize if I…

\- Who would believe me if I said I managed to get Shara Lannister to apologize for her behaviour?” he smiled, humourlessly. “You should focus on your counter-rebellion, my Lady, not on the past. Especially mine. There is no juicy rumour to make out of it.

\- I am not trying to…

\- Of course you are not. At least not yet.” He opened the door and turned away. “I shall tell you when dinner is served tonight.”

She watched him disappear through the door. Once alone again, she looked away and lost herself in the spectacle of the waves surrounding them. Far away from their ship she imagined the black and gloomy Dragonstone, empty of life now as it had been fifteen years ago. _I suppose Jaime Lannister and I share one thing, at least._ He had accepted to bear the secret of her doubts. She would have accepted to bear the secret of what happened then, but perhaps she mistook his lingering melancholy for understanding. Fifteen years alone with his secrets could not make it easy to trust someone, especially her, with them. _We both destroyed an ancient house with our bare hands._


	17. Mercy, peace and justice

When they arrived in sight of Gulltown, she was outside the cabin, on the deck and talking with the captain. The winds had been favourable and it took the planned four days to arrive. The first thing she saw was the high walls that surrounded the entire city, for they were of a very light grey that stood out on a otherwise very green scenery. It had been so much time since the last time she saw those walls, and she could not help feeling emotional at their sight. Her heart tightened and she unwillingly almost dashed on the rail closest to the harbour. The captain chuckled but did not comment, too respectful to think of it. _And fearful of my Lord husband, I suppose._

Gulltown was a beautiful city, and it was not just because it was hers. It was the largest settlement of the Vale, and by the Vale’s standard it was huge. By the realm’s, though, it was barely as big as some secondary port city. Though House Grafton ruled it, there were a few remaining members of House Arryn’s cadet branch living there. Shara knew close to nothing about them, given that they were more traders than Arryns – they were rich, but uncouth and their nobility was running thin as they kept on marrying merchants. For all she knew, they had not taken any side yet and probably would not.

The captain eventually joined her to announce that they would land in a, hour or two, depending on the winds and tide. It did not matter much, she knew she could spend the entire day looking at the city. As the ship went closer and closer they started to hear the noises of the city, its near-constant rumble and the gulls’ squawking. Jaime Lannister joined her when they got ready to disembark and told her she had to remain by his side until they were absolutely certain Baelish had not sent men to harm her. In theory, no one knew she was coming but he had his ways and her disappearance from court may have been relayed up to the Eyrie.

 

“So, where are we going?” he asked as the sailors prepared the platform to climb down the ship. “House Grafton’s castle?

\- With the Arryn banner high and slowly enough for the entire city to see us.

\- If your plan is to alert Littlefinger, this is the best way.

\- Whatever I do, he will know at some point,” she shrugged. “But it is not him I wish to alert.

\- Then who?”

 

She turned her head to look at him. She was not sure he knew about the Lords Declarant. Tywin had implied it was still unknown to most people, but he did not really told her it was a secret. She practically saw the gears turning inside his head before he nodded. _So he knows._ He looked at the harbour. There was not that many people at the moment, probably because they had not yet hoisted the Arryn banner. It was better this way. She needed people to whisper, and whisper _a lot_ until it reached the ears of those of her bannermen that were loyal to her. _Or to House Arryn, for now._

 

“We still ignore who they are. What if they are Lords of the western side of the Vale?

\- I am a very patient woman, Ser,” she smiled. “Lord Grafton may side with Baelish, but he cannot possibly refuse to host the Hand of the king’s wife.

\- You are supposed to be his Lady liege, is that not enough?

\- For a felon?” He scoffed and shook his head. She simply looked at the harbour as well. “No, I would not count on that.”

 

Once the platform installed, she waited for her escort to disembark before doing the same. She thanked the captain and his crew and assured them that she would tell the Lord Hand how _delightful_ the journey had been. A few onlookers had stopped when spotting the sixty armoured men wearing coats of gold and red surrounding a single woman, but they did not seem not have understood who exactly they were looking at. She gave the order to hoist the banners once done with the captain. Two Arryn banners at the vanguard, two at the rear and one Lannister banner in the middle of the escort – Tywin had insisted.

Though no official information had been given regarding her arrival in the Vale, he had made sure enough horses would be ready by the time they would arrive. When the ostlers realized to whom their horses were to be given, they paled and fell on their knees. She had them stand, added a few coins to the price Tywin paid and mounted on her horse with Jaime’s help. This was also something she had done in months, if not years.

The whispers she waited for came when they left the harbour and entered one of the city’s main street. More and more people gathered as the escort made its ways through the convoluted city, heading straight to the Graftons’ castle. Children ran in front of the vanguard, women followed the convoy and men took off their hat when it moved past them. She nodded to those who greeted her, polite and respectful as she had to be toward her people. Just nearby, Jaime eyed everything that happened around, groaning that there were too many people already.

 

“Smile, Ser,” she instructed him, smiling herself. “You look as if we were here to kill someone.

\- We are.

\- They are not supposed to know that. All they know is that Lord Jon’s daughter has returned at last.” She darted him a glance. “With a small escort and only one actual knight, because she trusts her people.

\- They know very little of you if they can actually believe that.

\- They know exactly what I want them to. ”

 

He rolled his eyes and smirked when kids waived at him. Belong long they reached the castle, in the middle of the city, and the escort stopped. She asked them to leave room for her and, still accompanied by Jaime, took her horse closer to the walls. Guards were there, guarding the place and already opening the heavy gates. Lord Grafton appeared behind them and instantly walked, alone, to greet them. Though he faked assurance and courtesy, it was painfully obvious that he was not expecting her, nor anyone, today.

 

“Lady Shara,” he greeted her with his usual booming voice. “What a pleasant surprise to have you here. House Grafton is honoured to receive your visit, of course, and respectfully offers you beds and protection while you remain in our city.

\- Ser Jaime Lannister and I thank you for your hospitality, my Lord, and gratefully accept your offer.

\- This is our very duty, my Lady, to welcome you beneath our humble roof. But please, make your way inside the castle so that your men can rest.”

_Courteous as ever,_ she noted as she ordered her men to follow. She hoped enough people had seen the scene to make it travel far enough to alert the Lords Declarant – and Baelish. Somehow she wanted him to know she was coming for him at last. She dismounted without help and told Lord Gerold to stand when he knelt. She noticed Jaime’s mocking smirk as they followed him inside the castle to the great hall. It was not _great_ by any standards, but it was certainly the biggest room of the castle and the great table was there. She heard him whisper to a servant to immediately bring wine, cheese, salt and bread.

 

“So you still respect guest right,” Jaime said under his breath. “Or pretend to, anyway.

\- Lord Gerold is neither daring nor stupid enough not to respect the custom. He is too fearful for that.

\- Tell that to Robb Stark’s ghost, will you?”

 

She frowned until he lost his smirk and found his composure again. Lord Gerold came back to them with a wide smile that barely hid the genuine panic in his eyes. She remained calm and accepted the food and drinks she was offered when they came. Jaime did the same, on behalf of the Lannister escort. _Now we are protected,_ she thought. _Or supposed to, at least._ He did eat some of it as well, but it was more nibbling than actual eating.

 

“We are very honoured and very glad to have you, of course,” he eventually said. “But, if that is not too much to ask, is there a reason why you returned to the Vale?

\- Other than visiting my lands, my Lord?” She smiled, faking sheer happiness. “It has been so long since last I came, I had to return and visit my loyal bannermen. You are the first, Lord Gerold.

\- I am very…

\- Honoured,” Jaime completed, rolling his eyes. “I think the Lady understood that much.”

 

She could have frowned again, but she had to bite her lips not to chuckle when she saw panic completely washing over Lord Grafton. He eyed her, then Jaime, then her again, trying to understand if she _knew_ or if she ignored his allegiance. She emptied her glass of wine, put it back on the plate and headed to the fireplace. It was probably the most impressive thing of the hall, for it was finely sculpted and decorated with burning towers – House Grafton’s sigil. There was a few hangings of the stone walls and some paintings of ancient members of the house, but that was all the decoration they had put on.

 

“Obviously,” she continued, her voice slow and deliberate. “You may alert Lord Petyr Baelish of my arrival. I am sure he will pleased and _honoured_ as well.

\- My Lady, I am not sure I…

\- Of course you do understand, my Lord.” She turned to face him, still smiling. “As I do. Did you really think I would never hear about your little schemes?

\- No, my Lady, of course not, but they said you were a prisoner and that you were going to…

\- Die?”

 

He paled again. She figured that if he paled even more he would collapse and probably beg her to spare his life, his family’s and his entire house’s. It was entertaining, in a way. _A cruel way, I suppose._ She felt nothing but pity for him, this booming man who did not even dare look at her in the eyes. She wondered how much exactly of the war had reached the Vale – how much they knew about her involvement. If they knew even half of it, it made sense that he looked so awfully scared of her reaction.

The man twisted his hands, stammering things she did not understand. She exchanged a glance with Jaime who shrugged, seemingly unconcerned and absolutely not interested in the conversation – which he probably was. There was nothing interesting in the spectacle of a grown man bending over backward in fear of the liege he easily disregarded for months.

 

“Lord Baelish said Lord Tywin would steal the Vale from you,” he eventually managed to utter. “And that you would be compelled to surrender our lands to House Lannister. He said…

\- Lord Baelish certainly says a lot of things, and you certainly believed the whole of it.” She tilted her head. “The full time it was happening, I kept sending letters to Lord Nestor Royce, with instructions for my bannermen. Where is he?

\- I know not, my Lady, the Gates of the Moon are quite far from here and…

\- And obviously you do not care very much about your Lady’s right-hand man. Why has he not been listened to?

\- My Lady…

\- Do you know anything about anything, my Lord, or are you just the traitor’s main puppet?”

 

Her voice had gradually grown louder and darker as he quivered and cowered. The darkest part of her mind enjoyed that, that feeling of intense power over this man’s existence, and understood why Tywin held unto his power. _So this is what it feels like,_ she thought, _to hold the world in one’s hands._ Her world was small, of course, but it felt _incredibly powerful_ still. She did not think it would be so easy to bend a man like him to her will and questions, but the easier the better.

She took a deep breath and sighed. It was all theatrics, of course, pretending to be tired and exhausted by the situation when she was in full possession of her faculties and quite ready to make this last an entire day if need be. He slightly raised his head again, hoping for more calm. She wondered if her father used to feel this powerful when he spoke to his bannermen. _But again, he barely saw them at all in his last decades._

 

“I came here,” she said, softer. “To ensure that the king’s peace reaches my beloved lands, undisturbed by some ambitious bird of ill-omen. I am more than ready to pardon my misled bannermen, if they are ready to renounce their traitorous allegiance.

\- My Lady must understand that we were led to believe that your… Lord husband…” He gulped, practically gone mute. “After what happened to the Lord Stannis, we were told that you were entirely under his control and that whatever you may write was…

\- His words?” He nodded. She frowned. “It is not only me you insult, my Lord, when you say you believed such fallacy. Is House Arryn known for being easy to control? Was my father known for being easily manipulated?

\- Of course not, your Lord father was the wisest man there was and House Arryn has always remained most upright!

\- Qualities Lord Baelish has, according to you?”

 

It had been only too easy for him – Lord Jon was dead, his wife, stranded on her high castle with her wimp of a son as the only protection against the Lannister hegemony that had already taken their Lady. He only had to dramatize the situation and, with a chastened look on his face, explain how badly she was treated, how broken she was, how manipulated too. None of her letters to Lord Nestor Royce could be trusted, for Tywin Lannister kept such a close eye on everything she wrote and did. _Which has not always been wrong,_ she mused bitterly. And of course he let it happen, her _Lord husband_ , until she realized what was happening and put a stop to it all.

As for Lord Grafton, he could not be trusted with anything, not just yet. Any information he came to know would probably instantly reach Baelish up to the point where he would realize he was not the winning party at all. All she could ask for was material help – his men, to add to her escort. And the identity of the Lords Declarant, if he even knew who they were. Somehow she hoped Nestor Royce was amongst them, but he really seemed not to know where he was. _He may be dead by now,_ she realized. _That would not be surprising._ She hoped not. She disliked the idea of her right-hand man dying out of loyalty.

 

“This has gone long enough, Lord Grafton. I am not manipulated by Lord Tywin Lannister, not more than he wished to take control over the Vale. By the king’s law I am the one and only liege Lady of the Vale of Arryn, not Lord Baelish, not anyone else, _me._ There are now two things you can decide to do.” She closed the gap between them and stared at me right in the eyes. “One is refusing to see the obvious and persist in your treachery. As all traitors, you shall die and your house shall be stripped from its lands. Gulltown shall be given to my kin, the Arryns of Gulltown, if they so desire.

\- But the Arryns of Gulltown…

\- Have lost most of their nobility, indeed. But they would still retain more than a house that forsworn his allegiance to its liege.” She could feel the weight of Jaime’s stare on her. She shrugged it off. “The second thing you can do is renounce it all, and return to His majesty’s peace… And mine. With conditions you shall be pardoned, and no harm shall come to you, your family and your house.

\- Of course, my Lady, of course I was misled, I was fooled by a traitor, and I was led astray, I beg you please to…

\- Enough.”

 

He had fallen on his knees, her hands in his, trying to kiss it. She took it back, mildly disgusted by such cowardly behaviour. She had no patience for this kind of _respects_ , for she knew they meant nothing. House Grafton, even pardoned, would forever remain a traitor house for her and she had no intention to lead him to believe it could be otherwise. She simply had no time to spare in executions, and nothing to gain in them. Gulltown was simply too important a city to simply get rid of its Lord. _Too bad. That would have been satisfying._

 

“The conditions I set for you pardon,” she continued, her voice stark and clear. “Are simple. I want half of your men, wearing Arryn colours, to join my escort.

\- Anything, my Lady, anything you…

\- I am not finished. I want the names of the so-called Lords Declarant, for I intend to gather them here, inside the city, with their armies. As of now Gulltown is placed under my control and mine only, until this rebellion is over.” He paled, but nodded again. Weakly. “My men will seize control of the crows and no message shall leave nor arrive in this castle without my approval.

\- My Lady demands a lot from us,” he stammered, alarmed. “You must know that our loyalty…

\- Shall remain forever tarnished. My trust in you has been broken, Lord Grafton, for I know you have been instrumental in Lord Baelish’s accession to regency. Do you have a maester here, or do I need to have one called?”

 

He immediately rose on his feet and practically dashed in the corridor to have his maester taken to the hall. She turned her head to look at Jaime and did not miss the lopsided smile on his lips. He nodded, both impressed and mocking, and crossed his arms over his chest. The situation did not warrant this much aggression, of course, but it had been long since she could unleash the full anger she felt at the situation. Gerold Grafton was the perfect victim of it, and she started to think she might just do the same with every Lords and Ladies who dared turn their back on her. _If that does not teach them a lesson,_ she mused, amused. _I know not what will._ Lesson number one: never try your luck with an Arryn. Lesson number two: bend the knee.

The maester rushed inside with parchments, quills and an inkwell. He sat at the great table and waited for her to dictate whatever he had to write. She repeated what she had just told Lord Gerold, changing the half of her men into an actual number. He apparently had five hundred men within the city’s wall, so she demanded two and a half hundred of them at her disposal. _The Lord Gerold Grafton hereby surrenders total control of his lands and hereinabove mentioned men to the Lady Shara of House Arryn and Lannister, Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East._ She added a few words about the communication devices, made sure everything was written according to her will and signed it. She handed it to Lord Grafton who hesitated, but signed, eventually.

 

“You have taken your best decision since a long time, my Lord,” she commented. “Now, the names.

\- There are six of them, led by Lord Yohn Royce and Lady Anya Waynwood. They have sworn to remove Lord Baelish as Lord Protector of the Vale, but as of now… They have done nothing yet.

\- Ser Jaime?” She turned to him. “Could you please have one of our men send summons to Lord Royce, Lady Waynwood and...?

\- Lord Gilwood Hunter, Lord Horton Redfort, Lord Benedar Belmore and Ser Symond Templeton.” Gerold Grafton looked defeated, now. He had lost, and he realized it. “They all are in Runestone.

\- That will be easier, then. So, Ser Jaime, could you please have one of our men send summons to these fine Lords and Lady in Runestone, so that they come here as fast as possible?

\- Of course, my Lady.”

 

 _This is not my job,_ his eyes meant to say. She smiled. _You are at my orders, Ser,_ it meant. He saluted her, Lord Grafton, and left the room. One of their men entered the hall as he vanished, to make sure no harm would come to her. _I am protected by both guest rights and the decree he just signed,_ she thought. _But I suppose it does not mean much these days._ She thanked the maester for his help and asked him to send a copy of the agreement to the king, so that he remained informed. He bent and vanished as well, leaving Gerold Grafton and her alone together.

She started to walk away, heading towards the main corridor to go to the room that had been prepared for her, and stopped in the middle of the hall to turn to him once again. It was all scenery, decorum – but it was no less important. She had to show him, and the entire Vale, and the entire realm, what she was eager to do when slighted and just how strong she was, even without her powerful husband. It was high time the world knew whom Shara, wherever Arryn or Lannister, really was. _A monster, to those I wish harm to._ An ally to the rest.

 

“I am deeply sorry this has to go this way, my Lord,” she said. “But you left me no other choice. I do hope you measure how merciful I am to you.

\- Yes, my Lady. My house and I shall remain indebted to you until the heirs of my heirs stop to draw breath.

\- You will.”

 

She stared at him for a few more seconds and left, asking the nearby servant to lead her to her room. Once alone in the corridor, she stopped hiding her smirk. _Gods, that feels good._ Gods, was she going to make a victory out of it all. _You see that, father?_ She eyed up, at the high ceilings. _That is what it feels to be truly powerful, and not just meek._


	18. Smoke and Mirrors

Gulltown’s castle was not the most comfortable place she ever dwelled in. Going north, both Jaime and her quickly understood that winter was, indeed, coming, and there was not nearly enough wood in the fireplaces to keep every rooms warm. It was antic, probably, so the ceilings were too high and the stones, too thick. Every opening in the walls created drafts, and the windows were not correctly sealed. _Stupid castle,_ she mused as she kept close to the fireplace of her room. _How can someone be so stupid as to open this many windows in a seaside castle?_ At least in the Eyrie the immense windows were perfectly sealed, so that the strong wind that blew up there never got to enter the palace.

Jaime made sure the letter to Runestone left the very day Lord Grafton gave her the Lords Declarant’s names, and they rather quickly received a reply, the kind she expected Lord Royce to send: concise and pithy, he wrote that they were on their way to Gulltown. They were to arrive by the afternoon. The castle was ready to welcome them. To free enough rooms for all of them, Jaime accepted to be relocated in the antechamber of her own room, provided that he could have a proper bed. 

As for her, she had spent the last few days terribly sick. She suspected that she had spent too much time on the deck, while on the ship, and somehow caught a chill. The coldness inside the castle did not make it better, obviously, and she dreaded the time she had to spend far from a burning fire. Though Jaime pretended it was not _that cold_ compared to the North, she still never managed to really warm up. She hid it as best she could and simply wore the furs she had taken with her. Aware of the decorum she had to maintain, he made no comment on it – in public, at least.

She was just finishing writing a letter to be sent back to King’s Landing when he knocked at the door and entered. At first she pretended she did not notice him, and continued writing. _The Lords Declarant are to arrive today. Once properly convinced of the legitimacy of my claim, I hope to be able to take back the Eyrie in a matter of days at best, or of a few weeks at worst._ She heard him dragging an armchair close to the fireplace and sit on it, patiently. _I expect His majesty to be settling well into his new position, and otherwise have no doubt you shall guide him toward the right path. As for the rest of your affairs, I hope they are going according to your plans. I shall write again when some advancement has been made on my part._ She paused at the signature, and settled for simplicity. _Your wife, Lady Shara of house Lannister._

 

“Writing to your dear husband?” Jaime eventually asked when he saw her sign. “I did not think you would be so eager to keep him informed of your every move.

\- Not of my every move, but if I keep him informed he will not seek more information,” she explained with a smile. “It is not much of a hassle to ensure myself a good measure of leeway.

\- How sly of you. Do you ever do anything that is not filled with subtext and innuendos?

\- Well, I am rather straightforward with you, am I not?”

 

She carefully closed the letter with her Arryn seal and put it aside to turn to Jaime. He nodded, thoughtful. He spent most of his time with his fathers’ men, training and fighting in the inner court of the castle, trying to find a way to use his left hand as well as he used his right. Sometimes she watched him from her room. The more he trained the less clumsy he grew, but there was no comparison between the swordsman he was and the swordsman he had become. It was a sad sight, really, but decency and respect stopped her from commenting on it. He was toying with the golden sculpture of a hand he wore on his stump.

 

“You are, surprisingly. So I can only imagine there is some veiled reason for that, though I can hardly think of any.” He shrugged. “How can a cripple be of any use for you?

\- Is it so hard to believe that I might simply appreciate your company?

\- Just as hard as imagining what profit you might find in pretending to.” He scoffed and sighed. “What a puzzling woman you are, Shara Lannister, born Arryn. Is that how you want them to call you?

\- Shara Arryn will do, for them.

\- What about me, then?”

 

She kept silence for a few instants. She truly had no idea what she wanted to be called. Tywin kept on calling her Shara Arryn, probably as a way to never forget who she was and why she was his wife. The court called her Shara Lannister, most likely out of fear. She made sure the Vale Lords would call her Arryn, but it was a matter of legitimacy and simplicity. At some point she would probably start to sign her letters as Shara Lannister, born Arryn. All of these names were used out of necessity. She had never given much of a thought about it.

 _Except when I stepped out of Stannis’ cell,_ she remembered. She stepped in an Arryn, stepped out a Lannister, or so she felt. It had to mean something, and it did. But did it mean that she wanted him to call her a Lannister? Then again, there was not much of an Arryn left in her. And why would she care, after all? He was part of the court, he could do like the rest of them. _Or was he?_ She never had friends, never was close to anyone. She had no idea what intimacy, in a non-physical way, could mean. She was not even sure Jaime and her were anything but two people stuck together in the same room a certain amount of times.

 _Of course we are,_ she mused. _We understand each other._ But for all she knew she might be the only one thinking that. She had no idea whether he felt the same, or if she was just a way to stave off boredom. _Gods, stop thinking so much you are ridiculous._ And he could not care about her useless answerless questions. Maybe it was just a trick question, after all. She was going to answer with some snide remark when a series of shivers washed over her. She bit her lips, feeling suddenly very weak, and looked away for a second. Enough for him to notice something was off.

 

“Are you alright?

\- Quite,” she instantly replied. “Just a shiver. As for your question, you already called me Lannister on the ship. Do as you wish.

\- I did because I had no idea what to call you. No one uses the same name, and I have no idea what you even prefer.” He frowned, visibly frustrated. “And you are pale.

\- Because I am cold, as I have been for the past days. This castle does me no good.” She raised her chin again, pretending not to hear her blood throbbing at her temples. “I have no preference whatsoever.

\- Should I call you Shara, then?”

 

She paused. No one called her Shara, not even Tywin, not even her father when he was alive. She had never been called by her name by anyone, there was always something attached to it. _Lady_ Shara. Shara _Arryn._ Shara _Lannister._ She was not Shara, not for anyone, and she wondered who that might even be. Someone with no title, no house at all. Perhaps, in some strange way, it was fitting for whatever relation they had. They got to know each other too late for him to know Shara Arryn, and too early for him to know Shara Lannister. But it was incredibly _intimate_ to be called by a name no one ever used, out of respect, distance or fear. She was not sure she was comfortable with that. _But then again,_ she thought, _I called him Jaime on the same ship._ And it did not feel that wrong.

 

“I suppose you could,” she tentatively said. “When we are alone.

\- Now that is something I was not expecting.” He had raised an eyebrow. “I thought you might get angry, or offended.

\- Seems like you do not know me as well as you think, then. Do not think too much of it, I already called you Jaime so I suppose it is only fair to allow you that much.

\- Let us pretend that is the reason, yes,” he shrugged off the matter. “Alright, then, You are not well. If you are sick, you need to see a maester. No good can come out of this chill you caught.

\- I told you I feel well.

\- That is a lie and you know that. Pretending you are not feeling weak will not work on your Lords Declarant, it is painfully obvious.”

 

She winced. She hoped it was not _so_ obvious, but obviously no one had missed the circles under her eyes and the paleness of her skin. That, and the little food she actually ate at dinner and lunch. She hoped she could pretend she was just too busy for this kind of futile, materialistic concerns, but apparently in sheer vain. She did not understand her sudden weakness, nor did she understand _why now_ , of all time. _But simply wishing it to go away will not help at all._ Neither did the fact that she hardly slept at night, for reasons that were only too obvious.

 _Gods, they will not trust me if I look like I am about to collapse._ Jaime was absolutely right about that. The Lords Declarant indeed stood against Petyr Baelish, but standing against him did not directly mean that they stood _with her._ They refused his regency, not the idea of having her brother as a liege – and they never said they wanted her instead. Sharing an enemy was not enough to build an alliance, she had found; mutual profit was also necessary. _Or fear._ But this option was closed off so long as she looked sick.

 

“I cannot afford to look weak in front of them,” she hissed, frustrated. “I need them to listen and bend the knee, not pity me.

\- I would like to see it, though. It takes a great deal of courage to pity a woman like you.” She frowned. “Or perhaps it is recklessness. Have you told Lord Tywin about your sudden sickness?

\- No, and I will not. The entire kingdom does not have to know I caught a chill on a ship.

\- When you are unable to stand because your pride forbids you any kind of treatment…

\- As far as I know, _Ser_ , you are no maester and you are not here to be my personal nurse.

\- I am here to ensure you return to King’s Landing safe and sound.” He rolled his eyes and stood from his seat. “But if you refuse to listen I suppose I can only leave you to your brooding and scheme-making.”

 

He headed for the door as she watched him doing so. Jaime Lannister, she was starting to understand, was like a child, only with more beard and taller, and only half of the time. This was the half of the time he acted like a brat. He was going to leave if she said nothing, but that was not his intent. He knew she wanted to talk about the Lords Declarant and to discuss how she could try to win them over – he came for that, initially. And she did want to talk about that before they arrived, if only to be certain he was not going to unleash their men for no reason. She sighed and called him before he vanished through the door. He froze in his movement and waited there, unnerving as ever.

Sometimes she wondered if she _really wanted_ to keep Jaime Lannister this close, especially when he was this annoying. In these moments he was exactly the way the entire world saw him: vain, shallow and arrogant to a fault. She found nothing charming in these three flaws. But she was fascinated by the depths he only seldom allowed her to glimpse. There were so many things he hid from her, from the entire world… _But right now he is insufferable._

 

“I will see the maester,” she spat out. “When I am done with the Lords Declarant. In the meantime, no word regarding my… Ailment. To anyone.

\- I will hold you to that.” He turned back and came back to his seat, as if nothing happened. “So? What about them?

\- I have no way to force their hands, none at all, so I have to move smoothly and convincingly.

\- You have a royal decree that makes you the only legitimate Warden of the East,” he objected. “Is that not enough of a smooth and convincing move?

\- It would be, if the Vale had been as neutral as my goodmother pretended during the war. The truth is that she was simply too afraid to side with her sister and nephew, but she hates the Lannisters and it rubbed off on my bannermen.”

 

It was a painful truth: she now belonged in the house her bannermen hated the most, mostly for legitimate reasons. Given the well known tendency of house Lannister to expand to new lands, it was understandably hard to fathom how Tywin Lannister himself could not be involved in her sudden recapture of her lands’ lordship. _And to be honest he is involved,_ she mused. _But in a long-term way._

As she was focusing on the matter at hand, she felt her dizziness subside and welcomed the feeling. Jaime seemed to be thinking, pondering something. It was a strange sight as well, him so concentrated on something so serious. What a curious advisor he made. She darted a look outside, to immediately understand that, as usual, the sky was grey. She never realized how used to King’s Landing’s sun she had become, and how hard it was to see it hidden so much. _You are not here to bath in the sun, idiot._ She was there to avoid a proper war, and if impossible, then wage it. With the sun, or without it.

 

“Well, I suppose you cannot always be on the best side,” Jaime commented. “They cannot deny you are your father’s daughter, though, and they cannot deny your political savvy. They hate Baelish almost as much as you do and they cannot possibly wish for your sickly brother to become their liege.

\- All of that is very true, indeed. But still it does not mean they will render me the Vale on a silver plate.” He frowned, she shrugged. “Men are not rational. You of all people should know that. Just because I am the best option they have does not mean they will make it easy. You have heard Lord Grafton, have you not?

\- I still cannot begin to fathom how it is even possible to believe that you might be manipulated by anyone. Do they even know you?

\- No, they do not.” She smiled and eyed him. “I left the Vale when my father became Hand of the king, and hardly returned more than a few days every few years. Most of their memories of me are memories of a chatty little girl.

\- In that regard, they will not be disappointed.”

 

She rolled her eyes while he scoffed. It was a light-hearted comment so she did not rebuke him, but she could not help wondering what exactly they were expecting. She knew more about them than they knew about her – she was no longer the little girl they remembered, and she had seen none of them since their grand departure. She exchanged a few letters with a few of the Lords Declarant, especially with Lord Yohn Royce, but that was all.

If they expected her father’s spitting image, they probably would be disappointed or pleasantly surprised depending on the level of resemblance they were expecting. She was coming to terms with the idea of going astray from the path he would have wanted for her, but would they? Would they accept to follow a young woman, whose only tie to the Vale was a name and an illustrious father she was nothing alike? But mayhap they expected a docile woman, meek and humble, manipulated by her husband – then again, they would be disappointed.

She sighed and let silence linger for a while. Would she follow herself, abandon any hope of becoming liege herself to support her claim? Because obviously they were hoping to seize control of her brother and become regent themselves – and, if the Gods decided to reclaim the boy’s life, Lord or Lady of the Vale. It was the way of the world. She had to convince them to forsake this senseless hope and return to their dutiful path. _It is no small feat indeed,_ she thought. _To convince ambitious people to set aside their ambition, although ill-placed._ She glanced at Jaime Lannister again. He was staring at the fire and seemed to be lost in thoughts.

 

“Would you follow me?

\- What do you mean?” he asked, dumbfounded and unsettled by her question. “Would I follow you where?

\- If you were one of them, one of the Lords Declarant. Would you set aside your pride and help me regain control over the Vale?

\- That is an awfully specific question, and very surprising coming from you. Why would you care about I would potentially do?

\- Just answer the question,” she ordered, annoyed by the tiptoeing. “You are a soldier, first and foremost. You know how stubborn and harsh men react.

\- I am going to pretend you did not just say I am a stubborn and harsh man.”

 

She almost snapped back but he gestured her to keep quiet. _Let me think,_ it seems to mean. So she did, she kept quiet while he returned to his thoughtfulness for a while. She rather hated this tendency she lately had to ask his opinion, for she usually needed no one to take her decisions. _But usually I have no one nearly smart enough to have an opinion worth hearing._ Jaime Lannister may have received the least of Tywin’s character, amongst his siblings, but he was a good judge of character and a great strategist. He probably had no idea what to say himself, but his advices made sense. That was the official reason, of course. The other was that she was not used to be have someone to talk to and she was getting comfortable with the idea. _Seven Hells, why cannot I just go on like I used to? Ignore them all and do it all myself?_ Why was he so different?

 

“I would probably hesitate,” he eventually said. “But I would.

\- Why?

\- I would hesitate because of everything you said. I would probably think your husband is pulling the strings and is trying to seize control of the Vale through you, at least at first. And, with all due respect, I would doubt you because you are a woman.” She waived off the possible offence. “But we all know and have seen enough of you to know that it would be a terrible mistake to step in your way. The entire realm has seen what good it did to Stannis Baratheon.

\- So you would follow me out of a fear.” An eerily feeling washed over her. Dread, mixed with the cruel realization of the consequences of her actions. She let none of that show. “Let it be fear, then.

\- You asked me to think as they would, not to think as myself,” he retorted. “They may fear you, if you throw the same scene as you did with Lord Grafton. As for myself, I know a lot better than that.”

 

The question burned her lips, but she never asked it. _Then what would you do?_ She did not know exactly why she would not ask him. Maybe it was fear of the answer he might give, because only he knew how doubtful and hesitant, and scared and broken she really was. A leader, a liege is none of that. No one wants a Lady with doubts and a mind full of dilemmas and regrets. A Lady inspires respect and obedience, not compassion and pity. She still was not so sure it was not the two main feelings he had about her.

Maybe she did not want to push it too far, and get him to think his opinion of her was worth that much. Maybe she did not want him to relay it to his father, and tell him how demanding she was. How much of a façade her strength was. _Trust is such a hard thing to give._ She was not even sure she was capable of giving it to anyone, and even so, she still could not tell whether or not Jaime was worthy of that or if it was just another game he played. She hated that feeling, hated that he sometimes was so obviously cautious in his choice of words, as if she was some little girl that had to be comforted. _I am not, and I will not let him believe that I could be!_ She gritted her teeth and gulped.

 

“I think they will ultimately follow you, Shara.” He seemed to have caught on her distress, but was mistaken on its cause. “And if they do not follow you because of your character, they will because you potentially have the full Lannister army behind you.

\- I do not…

\- They do not know that.” The corners of his lips curled up and he leaned toward her to place a hand on her arm. “Just do your thing and remind them a bit about Duskendale, and maybe Castamere if that is not enough.

\- I meant to say that I am not worried,” she corrected him, now properly annoyed by his sudden gentleness. Turning away to escape the intimacy of his touch, she tensed and looked away from him. “I simply wanted your opinion on the matter. Do not mistaken my tolerance for…

\- Gods, will you stop chopping and changing every two seconds? I am not stupid, your swings of moods do not fool me, and I am not going to scream from rooftops that the _cold and cruel_ Shara Lannister needs support every once in a while.”

 

He had raised his voice, completely giving up on gentleness for an annoyed tone. She darted him a dark glance and stood up to head to the other side of the room. _Gods,_ it was infuriating to be with him for more than a few minutes. She could not ask a question or speak without him always hinting at deeper things than what she wanted to speak about. _Even if that is exactly the reason why I cannot remain far from him,_ she could not help thinking, and admonishing herself for. _Because he sees right through the smoke and mirrors._

 

“That is enough,” she talked back. “You may leave.

\- You are…” He groaned and stood as well. “What does it take for you to be sincere more than five seconds per day? Why cannot you just…

\- You said yourself that you found hard to believe that I could be straightforward with you. Make your choice. Plus, I recall you were not more willing to pour your heart out to me, were you?

\- You… Wicked woman. Obviously my father chose you well when he forced you into marriage,” he spat out, looking daggers at her. “You are just as relentless and implacable as he is when you set your mind to it, and yet I have seen how broken and lost you really are. I _see_ that, I _hear_ that, and yet it is as if you are two different persons at once. How is it even possible that one person can be so two-faced?

\- Perhaps you just see what you want to see. Or perhaps I just led you to believe…

\- Enough!”

 

He had roared – properly roared. It echoed under the high ceilings and it froze her in place. She had never heard him raise his voice like that. He never seemed to care enough about anything to get angry. She remained still, unable to find a way to react, torn away from her growing restlessness and annoyance with both herself and him. He took a deep breath, apparently trying to find the correct words to use, when someone knocked at the door and entered. It was one of Lord Grafton’s squires, bent over backwards by the doorframe. He was short of breath and tried his best to find his composure. Taken aback, both Shara and Jaime remained silent in front of this terrified young man.

 

“My Lady,” he eventually managed to say. “The Lords and Lady have arrived. Lord Grafton…

\- I shall be waiting for them in the great hall.

\- Lord Grafton insists that…

\- Tell Lord Grafton that I will be there in a minute.”

 

The squire nodded and dashed back to his master. She waited for the door to be closed again to grab her fur cape on her bed, tie it around her shoulders and walk past Jaime without a glance. Whatever he meant to say would have to wait. _I have more important to do,_ she convinced herself. _Than listening to his apologies or pitiful attempts to get me to pour my heart out._ She had done that enough times already, and now he figured she was _weak_.

Enough indeed, for that he was right. This had gone too long already. If she was indeed two persons at once, one of them had to die and the weakest one – the one Jaime _saw_ and _heard_ , had to go, for the strongest part of her to survive. She had no other choice. She closed her eyes as she walked through her apartments, clenching her fists at her side. _Then why is it so hard to just ignore him?_ And why was it so easy with him to the weakest part of her show?


	19. Ground shakes and valour wakes

As she walked through the corridors to reach the great hall, she instantly realized things were happening outside as well – inside the castle’s inner court, and outside its walls. She stopped briefly, astonished by the amount of soldiers waiting there and holding their Lords and Lady’s banners. The inner court was filled with soldiers and she could tell the castle itself was surrounded by armies. _Are they marching on Gulltown?_ Or were they coming to talk? She took a deep breath and continued her walk. There was nothing she could against their number; now she had to do everything she could for them to stand beside her, not against her.

When she arrived by the great hall, the doors were already opened wide and the Lords Declarant were already inside. She stopped for a second before appearing, trying to listen to what they were saying, but they were mostly talking about the castle, Gulltown and Lord Grafton. _Now is the time._ She closed her eyes for a second, opened them and walked to the doors. She waited there for them to notice her, but hardly waited at all. Lady Anya Waynwood was the first to see her and immediately curtsied. The men followed suit and bowed before her when they understood what was happening. She let it happen, and let it last for a few seconds before smiling.

 

“Please, my Lords and Lady, arise.

\- Lady Shara,” the imposing Lord Yohn Royce said. “We are beyond relieved to see you in good health despite everything that happened to you in King’s Landing.

\- And I am beyond honoured to stand among you again. Let us all have a seat, so that we may talk more comfortably.” She gestured the great table in the middle of the hall and watched them sit on both sides while she remained alone, standing behind the only chair on smallest side. _So this is how Tywin feels when he presides the small Council,_ she mused. “Although I wish we could have gathered for a merrier reason than treason, words can hardly express my happiness to meet you all in my beloved lands.

\- All of us share this happiness.”

 

Lady Anya’s voice had echoed subtly, courteous as ever, but hardly hiding the suspicions they shared as well. She smiled, pretending to ignore the subtext, and sat at her seat. Lord Grafton, at the other side of the room, gestured the servants to bring wine to the table. She accepted her cup, but did not drink when the others did. Her dizziness had just barely subsided, she could not take the risk of it returning in the middle of the conversation. She simply dipped her lips politely and waited for all of them to be done.

 

“Lord Grafton allowed me to stay within his castle for as long as it would be necessary,” she said while gesturing him. He bent his neck. “He has understood how treacherous Petyr Baelish is, and how manipulative as well. Let it be known that House Arryn pardoned him for any previous treason he and his kin might have committed.

\- This is… Generous of you,” Lord Gilwood Hunter commented, already asking for his cup to be refilled. “But my Lady obviously knows that the title of head of House Arryn is a severely disputed one.

\- Of course, Lord Hunter, none of you six would be sitting here if the matter was an easy one.” _You alcoholic wretch._ “How very martial of you to come with your full host. I must say I did not come so heavily escorted.

\- Though not numerous, your escort is certainly noticeable.”

 

She did not lose her smile and, once again, pretended to ignore the innuendo. Oh, she was not stupid nor deaf; she knew exactly what this meant. Though she had insisted for her Lannister escort to change into less _noticeable_ armours, they still wore the crimson and gold of their master. She dipped her lips again into her cup, encouraging the other to drink, and looked at everyone around her.

Lady Anya was a very noble woman, both in birth and posture, though her hair had greyed since she last saw her. Her face was lined, but it gave her an aura of authority that most of the Lords Declarant did not have – except for Lord Yohn, who was as large as he was tall. Lord Gilwood was nothing but an old, red-nosed drunkard, who probably was only there because he was too proud to accept to be outranked by someone like Baelish. Lord Horton Redfort had not uttered a word, but he had always been a quiet man. Quiet, but dangerous and proud in his own ways. Lord Benedar Belmore was a traitor in the making, and she even wondered what he was doing here. Enough money or influence would instantly make him change side. As for Lord Symond Templeton, the only thing truly different in him was his age: he was the youngest Lord Declarant. _In other words,_ she mused. _If I can get Lady Anya and Lord Yohn on my side, they will all follow._

 

“My Lord husband is greatly concerned with my safety, indeed,” she continued. “Allow me to pay the respects he asked me to convey you.

\- Tywin Lannister’s respects are of very little importance to us, my Lady.” Yohn Royce was now frowning. “Lest you forget, last he sent these _respects_ of his, an honourable house was decimated at a wedding.

\- You do not have to remind me, Lord Royce, for I know exactly what happened at the Twins.

\- Is this the plan he has for us as well?” Lord Redfort asked. “Round us in a hall with you and unleash his soldiers?”

 

Her smile hardened and she shook her head. She did not try to hide her annoyance with his comment and pushed her cup back to be able to put both of her hands on the table. So this was the reason why they had come with so many of their men – it was a power play, to discourage her escort from slaughtering them. _If Tywin really wanted them dead,_ she could not help thinking. _There would not be any one of them left to speak._ She slowly shook her head and took a deep breath. When she raised her eyes on Lord Horton again, she noticed he had tensed.

 

“I understand your distrust in Lord Tywin, my Lords and Lady. The war has just ended and there are still many wounds to tend, on both side.” She gradually lost her smile. “But it is not only him you are insulting, when you imply that I might have set a trap here for you to die. You insult me as well.

\- What Lord Redfort meant,” Lord Templeton immediately retorted, hasty and unassured. “Is certainly not that you might have trapped us willingly. Lord Tywin Lannister is known for his cunning, and…

\- And you think I might be fooled by this cunning of his, to the point that I would unintentionally help him murdering my bannermen?

\- I did not…

\- I think you just did, my Lord,” she interrupted him starkly. The temperature in the room dropped as she looked at them, one by one. “So this is the high opinion my own bannermen have of me: either a kinslayer or a stupid pawn. And they say the Valemen are the most honourable and loyal subjects of the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

They did not take the blow as elegantly as Lady Anya who did not even flinch, or Lord Royce who looked down for only a second. Lord Redfort clenched his jaws and fists, either in shame or in rage, she could not tell, and the two others looked away like children caught in a tantrum. She was quite satisfied with her effect, but did not linger on it. She did not even pretend to be surprised, for she was expecting that much. She drummed her fingers on the wooden table and continued talking.

 

“So allow me to ask you this question, my Lords and Lady: have you come to besiege me? Are your soldiers standing inside and outside this castle as a threat against me?” The question was blunt and she watched them all go very pale. “Should I take this reaction as a yes?

\- Of course not, my Lady,” Lord Redford stammered. “It was mere precaution, we did not know what to expect.

\- So you imagined I may very well have brought the full Lannister army in order to, what exactly? Invade my own lands? Slaughter my people, in a ludicrous attempt to demonstrate how powerful my husband’s house is?” she scoffed, bitter. “As if the last war was not enough of a proof.

\- With all due respect, Lady Shara, you were supposed to be a prisoner. Last we heard about you, you had been forced into marriage under threat of execution. You can imagine how surprised we were to receive a letter from you, urging us to meet you here.” Lady Anya was the only one on the table to remain serene and calm. _This is much welcomed._ “And you can imagine how unsettling it is to hear that now you stand among Lannister men… As equal.

\- As their Lady, if I may. And yours as well.”

 

She grabbed the royal decree that named her Warden of the East from underneath her coat and placed it in front of her, unfolded. She did not give it to them just yet, she was waiting for the right moment; she needed the tension to rise a little bit more. She needed them to understand that she was someone to be reckoned with, and not just some wife of a powerful man. She had not yet mentioned Stannis Baratheon’s betrayal and its consequences, but she was not sure she would. They did not need to be threatened; they simply needed to understand the threat she embodied. _Subtlety is warranted,_ she mused. _Not bragging._ Not that there was anything worth bragging about Stannis Baratheon’s defeat, anyway.

 

“You know many things, I must grant you that.” Her voice was calm again, but cold enough to remind them of her growing annoyance. “But you seem to ignore that many things have changed as well, since this marriage.

\- Your fealty, for example?” Lord Gilwood asked out of nowhere. “Lord Baelish said you betrayed Stannis Baratheon immediately after your marriage, and rumour has it that you played a part in Duskendale’s demise.

\- For a group of Lords and Lady that supposedly stands against Lord Baelish, you surely listen to him quite a lot,” she commented, starting right at Gilwood. “Do you want me to tell you a story, Lord Hunter? I am afraid it is not a lovely one, but I believe it is worth hearing.”

 

He did not answer, but he cautiously nodded. She smirked and stood up to slowly walk around the table. There was not a single sound in the hall, except for the sound of her shoes on the paved ground. The decree was in her hands as she looked away from the seven of them. She could almost hear their hearts beating faster and faster in their chest. _Raw power,_ she thought. _I should do that more often._ She stopped in front of the great fireplace, on the other side of the room, and stared at the flames. _Rumour has it that I played a part in Duskendale’s demise, then._ Good. Now the realm knew what she could do to those who wronged her, and that Tywin Lannister was not the only one to fear in the duo. He had his Rains of Castamere – she had her Fires of Duskendale. _Fitting._ Poetic, in a way.

 

“There was a king, or so he called himself. He believed only he could be crowned, for he had the laws of the men and the laws of the Gods on his side. So he fought a war, relentlessly, and gained followers as the other pretenders dropped like flies, dead as he wished them all to be.” She resumed her walking, unimpressed by the seven pairs of eyes staring at her. “Amongst his followers he had one spy, living in the castle of the last pretender who stood in his way. The spy bloodied their hands, so that the king would not have to. They took the harsh decisions, so that the king would not have to. They put themself in more danger than anyone else, so that their king would ultimately be crowned. But they were not the only spy within the castle; another one loomed there, pretending to work for many people but only craving his own victory.”

 

She reached a candelabrum and looked at the small flames. How easy it would be to burn them all to ashes. A nudge, a thud, and the castle would go down in flames. _How easy indeed._ She touched one of the flames and smiled to herself. She did not want to be a Warden of ashes, but if it came to that… _I would rather see it all fall than surrender it to Baelish,_ she thought. _I want it all, or none at all._ And none else than her would have it. Tension grew around her as she walked behind Lord Grafton, Lord Royce and Lord Templeton.

 

“Understand that the king’s spy would soon win his war, the bird of ill-omen flew to the king himself. His sweet songs lulled the cold, harsh king into believing his promises of victory – and his lies. The bird whispered at the king’s ear many a thing about his spy and eventually convinced him that his most faithful servant had betrayed him. So the king, righteous to a fault, betrayed them in what he believed to be return.” She returned to her seat but remained on her feet, overlooking the table. “But the spy quickly understood that their life-long loyalty had only earned them their king’s betrayal. They had made allies amongst the pretenders’ men, so they used them to pay the king back. They had fire rained on the king as he tried, one last time, to win his war. And thus the war that should have been won was lost, and the king who should have been crowned died by the hand of the spy who should have handed him his crown.”

 

Uneasiness washed over the table as the Lords and Lady exchanged worried looks. Had they made the right choice, when they obeyed her order to come? Had they made the right choice, when they rejected Baelish’s offer? Was she going to rain fire on them as well, for they had never thought she might return to claim her lands? _It would be easy, and satisfying._ But no, she would not. Tywin was right when he said that she could not just invade her own lands with fire and blood, the way the Targayens invaded Westeros three hundred years ago.

But if she could not inspire love in her bannermen’s heart, then fear would do. And respect. And it was exactly what was beginning to show in their eyes – a lot of fear, and hints of respect. Or maybe it was just caution? _That would make them wiser than expected._ Her father’s prolonged absence had got them used to things she was not going to make last: one, unlimited freedom to do as they wished. Two, lofty speech about honour and values. And three, leniency regarding the Vale’s governance. It was high time to remind the realm that the Vale was not just some mountains with a few people cowering behind them.

 

“I find this story interesting. What do you think?

\- We are in no place to judge the choices you made while in King’s Landing, my Lady,” Lady Anya carefully said, weighting every each of her words. “But we need to be certain that the Vale will not fall into foreign hands.

\- Such as House Lannister’s, I suppose?” She nodded. “Lord Tywin has not interest whatsoever in the Vale. All that matters to him is that his wife is not stripped from her rightful heirloom.

\- You speak as if you were proud to be part of House Lannister. Your father…

\- I will not hear a word about my late father, Lord Royce, for he never had to withstand such foolish behaviour from his own bannermen.”

Faces paled again, as well as finger joints on the table. Once again, it was a game of smoke and mirrors; she did not clearly say she was talking about both Baelish and them. But they clearly understood that. She raised her chin and turned her head when she heard footsteps by the door. Jaime Lannister was standing there, far enough not to be involved in the conversation _per se_ , but close enough to hear everything that was said. He nodded as a way to greet the table, but none of them really acknowledged him. She decided to ignore his presence and turned back to look at her bannermen.

She was almost done, really. All it would take now was a little push in the right decision and they would either jump from their chair and run away, or bend the knee. _If the latter could happen it would perfect,_ she mused. Lady Anya was shamed, quite clearly, as well as Horton. Lord Royce and Gilwood were fuming. Lord Templeton and Belmore were now looking away, but she could not really name their emotion. They were just… Not there anymore.

 

“But if you really want to talk about him, I can only imagine how he would have reacted, he who was so proud of his loyal subjects and spoke so highly of them. Lord Baelish had his trust, of course, for he was such a close friend to his wife.” She shook her head. “House Royce has always been a paramount ally of House Arryn, and yet I see you now, doubting your liege, saying that I might have sold my name and my true home.

\- We have heard enough, Lady Shara,” Lord Gilwood suddenly groaned, jumping from his seat. He clung unto his seat not to fall. “We have not come here to be lectured by a girl barely out of childhood.

\- Perhaps I would not lecture you, my dear Lord Gilwood, if you did not deserve it,” she quietly continued, staring right at him. “Sit, before wine makes you.

\- I receive no order from…

\- I said _sit.”_

 

She lost all trace of smile and let the full extent of her anger, frustration and disappointment show. She heard Jaime stepping forward, unsure she would actually win this one. _Worry not, Ser,_ she thought. _I have already won._ The tension jumped higher than ever before and though she felt confident, she could not help praying he would _sit down_. If he did… If he did it was over, or almost over. If he sat, he virtually bended the knee and accepted that they, indeed, deserved the lecture and owed her their time. She remained coldly silent while the wavering Lord Hunter looked around, trying to find support and approbation in his fellow Lords Declarant. Though she never looked away from him, she could see, from the corner of her eye, that he found none. None of them were looking at him – none of them were looking at her. Even the proud and honourable Lady Anya Waynwood was now looking down.

She tilted her head after a while. He gulped and opened his mouth to say something – but nothing came. Perhaps he meant to say something along the line of “ _She is going to burn all down, the way she burned Duskendale!_ ”. Or maybe he was going for something like “ _Are we really going to let a brat dictate us our behaviour?_ ”, or “ _At least Littlefinger does not threaten us!_ ”. But yet again, nothing came, so she could only imagine what could go on in this empty head of his. _Apart from alcoholic drafts._

 

Then slowly, like the defeated man he was now, she saw Lord Gilwood Hunter lower unto his seat. It took all the control she had over herself not to smirk and giggle, but Jaime behind her did not make that effort. She heard him sneering behind her as he made his way to the table, at her right. Then only did the Lords and Lady seem to notice him, now visibly shamed to have been seen as they let the little girl they remembered make demands and strip them from their pride. Obviously Jaime Lannister did not utter a word, he only came to ensure none of them would, out of desperation or shame, try anything foolish.

 

“Did you mean to scare me, my Lord Hunter?” she softly asked. “Was it supposed to be a threat?

\- I am certain Lord Hunter…

\- I am asking him directly, Lady Anya. Someone strong enough to threaten his Lady is strong enough to explain himself.

\- I…” He gulped again and again. “I know not what got into me, my Lady. Please, forgive my foolishness. These are trying times we are living, I suppose I let it take the best of me.

\- And we all know how much we cherish the best of you.” Once again she heard Jaime softly scoffing. “Is there anything my Lords and Lady would like to say? Do you have any more threats to utter? Insults, perhaps?”

 

Silence again. She enjoyed it, for she knew it was probably the last time she could enjoy this amount of power over grown Valemen and Valewomen – except maybe when she would oust Petyr Baelish from her home, but that was a whole other thing. _Not that I am not looking forward for that whole other thing._

She eventually smiled again and softened. She sat again and handed Lord Templeton the royal decree so that he could read it and pass it to Lord Royce and so on so forth. She waited for the entire table to have read the parchment to retrieve it and thoughtfully read it again. _Never thought a single piece of parchment could wield so much power._ A wave of confused and reluctant submissiveness washed over the Lords Declarant as they realized that she was, indeed, officially their liege… Thanks to a Lannister decree, and probably contrary to her late father’s intentions. _Not that it matters anyway,_ she thought. _Dead men have no intentions to pursue._ And she had come to understand that very little people are actually eager to fight for some dead man’s memory. The amount of former Baratheon soldiers who had already joined either the Tyrell or Lannister army was more proof than necessary.

As for them, Lord Jon Arryn was a convenient banner to shake whenever interrogated on their actual motivations in refusing Baelish’s regency. _In memory of the late Lord Arryn’s honour,_ they probably said, _we shall not bend the knee before a petty schemer!_ How convenient, really, to suddenly remember him as a great, great Lord and Warden of the East – how wonderful a model for his son, once warded amongst one of them. Of course they would teach him the ways of his most ancient and noble house, while gradually eating away the power he would actually had _if he lived._

Their reverence for House Arryn had obviously just turned very much less convenient now that an actual heir of her _beloved father_ stood before them, bearing both cream and azure and crimson and gold banners. And not taking no for an answer. She wondered how the singers would recall this moment. Would they even sing about it?

 

“I do hope we did not lose precious time in vain,” she sighed after a while. “For, as we speak, Baelish still sits on my father’s throne and pretends to be Lord of the Eyrie in my stead.

\- He is very much alone now, my Lady,” Lady Anya commented. “Except for very few loyalists…

\- Very few, you say? Very few, and yet almost half of my bannermen, which amounts to half my host.” She frowned slightly and turned to Lord Gerold Grafton who had not uttered a word. “Is that correct, my Lord? Does he truly have that many men?

\- He could have them, but his… His allies had not gathered their armies last I received news from the Eyrie.

\- What pleasant news at last.”

 

She sat again and put the decree back when she had taken it from. She hailed the nearest servant to ask for a map of the Vale to be brought, as well as strategy pawns from her room. Tywin had given her two sets of them, or rather placed them in one of her chests. They were worn out, so she imagined they either belonged to the late Renly Baratheon – she did not recognize them as Stannis’.

She also asked for a chair to be placed at her side, so that _Ser Jaime Lannister_ could sit. He looked surprised for a second but did sit, still stiff. She ignored the weight of his gaze and, once given the pawns, toyed with them for a second as they unfolded the map in front of her. _Unto the next step, now._

 

“If my memories are correct, there is a two-month journey from Gulltown to the Eyrie awaiting us,” she said while raising her eyes to look at the men and woman around her. “I will not allow the situation to last any longer than necessary, so I shall only ask this question once, my esteemed Lords and Lady. Will you stand by my side to reclaim the Eyrie? Will your men stand by mine to take back what is mine by the laws of the Gods and the laws of the men?”

 

There was another silence, but this one did not last. The first to rise from his seat to bend the knee was Lord Royce. Lord Grafton followed, cautious as ever, and the rest of the table as well. Lady Anya curtsied very low. Her two hands on each armrest of her chair, she could not help smirking. For a second, she almost felt the crown on her head – but it was a shadow, of course. _Now I understand him,_ she thought. _I do understand._ The thrill, the power, _Gods the power_. The power to crush and the power to pardon. They had gone on their knees, now she would put them back on their feet; Baelish, however, would be served steel and fire. Blood and fury.

She let them remain like that for a few seconds and ordered them to rise and come closer, around the map. _We have a lot of work to do, my Lords and Lady,_ she declared, continuing to ignore Jaime Lannister’s stare. _And a rebellion to end._


	20. Can't let go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I've not been very talkative in the notes lately, I'm awfully busy with the beginning of my PhD (yup, I've just started my PhD in law) and with the classes I have to prepare. Don't worry though: I'm still very much involved in Shara's story!  
> As you probably understood, this arc is more centered on Shara herself, and a bit on Jaime as well. I have a couple more chapters to write in this arc before Shara actually returns to King's Landing; she can only return victorious, isn't it?
> 
> Anyway, thanks a lot for your support and your appreciation, it's so great to read your comments!

Two months was a lot of time, she realized, especially after living so many things in so little time lately. In the space of two months, she had practically gone from a free woman to a prisoner of war, and from a prisoner of war to… Something else, not entirely free again but going for it. These two months, however, were two completely empty months. And she hated emptiness, she always did. It never made sense, when she lived in King’s Landing – _emptiness_ meant nothing, there was always something happening there. Sometimes it was another royal baby, sometimes it was just a particularly uninteresting professor to escape. As the war started brewing, it became almost overwhelming. When it came to a close, it was always unbearable.

 _But it was somehow better than this._ After Stannis’ treason, she had spent a few days in complete emptiness, and the result was nothing good. _Depends, I suppose,_ she mused as she straightened her posture on her horse. _Somehow led me to accept Tywin’s offer._ But ever since, there was never _nothing_ to do for more than a day or two. Even the journey from King’s Landing to Gulltown was not as empty as… That. 

And emptiness, she had found, only brought terrible things as far as she was concerned. The hours of riding west toward the Trident, going through small towns and narrow pathways alike, were not nearly enough to busy her mind and it wandered in very dark places. Her last conversation with Jaime revolved in her head like a painful mantra, and the more she tried to push it away the harder it came back. _I have to kill the girl,_ she kept thinking. _And let the woman be born._ Or perhaps she needed to be more than just a woman. To get rid of Baelish and of her many enemies to come, maybe she had to kill the woman too. _The one in the Sept._ The one in Gullown’s castle’s room. _Kill the woman as well, then, and let the…_ Let the ghost of the woman be born?

Her ever-returning dizziness did not help at all. Sometimes she had to cling unto her reins not to fall from her horse, and it was getting harder and harder to remain focused while Lord Royce or Lord Templeton mentioned their plan to march on the Eyrie. Not that she cared, for she had her own plans, but she had to pretend she did to pamper their wounded ego. The only Valeman she wished to hear was not there, and was not answering her numerous letters. No one had heard anything about Lord Nestor Royce – as Lord Hunter began to say before interrupting himself, he was as good as dead. She did not think he was, though; he had hold the Gates of the Moon for more than fifteen years, and Baelish was too smart to get rid of the man who knew the Eyrie’s region as well as he did. At least she hoped he was.

Sensing that she would be able to go much further without actual rest, she decided the armies would make a stop in Wickenden, where House Waxley would _gladly_ welcome them. The decision did not sound suspicious; it was actually common sense to stop there for a few days. The next actual city on their way to the Eyrie was Saltpans and it was another twenty days away. _The closer we get to the Eyrie, my Lady,_ Lord Royce found necessary to remind her, _the more resistance we can expect._ Given that their army amounted to twenty thousands with possibilities of reinforcement from the capital if need be, she could hardly see how much resistance any of these villages could offer. Baelish himself did not have control over the remaining twenty-five thousands men of her host.

Wickenden’s castle was small but comfortable, more so than Gulltown’s. It was correctly warmed up and Lord Waxley immediately pledged allegiance to her. It did not surprise her. Edmund Waxley was amongst the Lords and Ladies who did not immediately disavow Petyr Baelish, but he never really showed any sign of alliance with him. He was but a small Lord, from a small town that had lost most of its candle and wax business during the war, and could not afford to take part in the question. His family and him seemed like decent, honourable people and she could not help respecting that. She, of all people, knew what hardship could make people do. She warmly thanked them for their welcome, probably surprising the former Lords Declarant who were not expecting their cold, new liege, to be capable of such warmth. _You should have bended the knee instantly,_ she thought, _and you would have been paid back gentleness._

It was another thing that did not help her escape the dark thoughts circling in her head; she had no trust in any of them. They were following her because she had compelled them to, but she had little doubt that they would soon start to scheme and try to find a way to get rid of her demanding and cold authority. They had come to know that the harsh taxes Lord Nestor Royce had raised came directly from her, and though they pretended to understand it was for the people’s own good, they disapproved. Of course they did: she was impoverishing them, even if it was not the point.

She wrote that much to Tywin, albeit in veiled terms, if only to ensure he would send her troops if need came. She received one of his many replies as she settled in her room, in Wickenden’s castle – somehow he had calculated how much time it would take her to reach the successive towns, and sent his ravens directly there. The seal was that of the Hand of the king, obviously, but it could as well have been a Lannister seal. She thanked the servant who brought her the parchment and, sitting on the edge of the bed, she lifted the seal.

 

 _Dear wife. I hope this letter founds you in safety and good hands. I have received and read your last missive, as well as my son’s first report. He mentions your state of exhaustion and sickness – obviously you have forgotten to mention them in your previous letters. Jaime is not a subtle man, as you know, and the attempts he made in hiding the true extent of your ailments are rather pitiful, if not ridiculous. I ask you to seek advice from House Waxley’s maester, who I believe is more capable than you are to assess your state._ She gritted her teeth, cursing Jaime Lannister’s name as she continued to read. _As for the doubts you have, they are wise concerning your current situation and I would expect no less of you. Should the doubts turn into certainties, you would do well to advise me,_ she smiled, _although I do believe it will not come to that so long as you remain vigilant. You asked for news from the Red Keep, so I must inform you that House Tyrell has just left King’s Landing to regain their western lands. Obviously Queen Margaery kept a few close friends and kin nearby, but other members of the house, old and new, have gone. Reply to this letter once you have seen a maester. Your husband, Lord Tywin…_ Blablabla.

 

 _Other members of the house,_ she repeated mentally, _old and new._ Her smile grew into a smirk as she understood what it meant. Cersei was gone with them. He had sent her away – finally. Her satisfaction was cut short by a fit of nausea that arose in her belly and torn her insides. She closed her eyes, put the letter away and took deep breaths. She hated the idea of Jaime Lannister warning his father of her health problems, but she could not blame him and she could not hope to reach the Eyrie in this state. If her Lords and Ladies did not realize she was getting sicker and sicker everyday, they would eventually see her collapse from her horse – and understand.

She rung a servant and asked for the maester to come as soon as possible. The man did not ask for reasons so she gave none. She patiently waited as her nausea gradually subsided. The weather was not so terrible, it made no sense that she felt so dreadfully weak and weary. There was not a lot of things that could make a young and healthy woman so sick, after all, and none of them made sense. She had no been poisoned, for she never drunk nor eat anything that had not been tasted before. She spent her time wrapped in furs and it was not cold enough outside to justify the illness. There was no sick person around her to have contaminated her. 

 _There is one thing, though._ The most obvious thing that could make a young, healthy and _married_ woman sick. She had discarded the possibility because her symptoms did not match what she had heard about… it. She felt feverous, and yet was feverless. Tired, though she slept at night. Never hungry. Nauseous, indeed, but not only in the morning. _If Jaime has described the symptoms in his letter,_ she thought. _Tywin might be thinking the same thing._ Hence the order to see a maester.

He arrived quickly and immediately asked her what was happening. He was rather young, for a maester, and was probably fresh out of the Citadel. He did not really seem impressed by his patient, though, and more interested by whatever sickness she felt.

 

“Before we get to my… Ailments,” she warned him. “I need you to be as discreet as possible. Nothing of what I am going to tell you can be repeated outside this room.

\- Of course, my Lady. I shall be as secretive as you wish me to be.

\- You have my trust, maester, for I respect your order. But should you mention anything…

\- I am sure you will find some inventive ways to punish me,” he finished with a smile. She frowned. “With all due respect, your reputation precedes you, my Lady. I would not think of going against your orders.”

 

 _Good, then._ At last a reasonable man. She eventually nodded and started to list the symptoms she had. He listened intently, then began examining her. He listened to her heart, her breath, asked some general questions, checked the colour of her eyes and her skin. She patiently waited for him to be done, but the uneasiness he started to show was already an answer to the question she would not ask. _Gods be good,_ she thought bitterly, _they could not have chosen a worse moment._ She pretended she understood none of it and stared at him. It did not make his uneasiness better.

 

“Well? Am I about to die?

\- No, not as far as I can tell,” he immediately replied. “But I have to ask rather… Intimate questions about your married life.

\- No need.” She took a deep breath. “It is entirely possible that I could be pregnant. Would it explain the symptoms?

\- They are extreme forms of the usual symptoms that go with the early stages of pregnancy, indeed.” He seemed relieved, now that he knew he would not have to ask if _Lord Tywin Lannister had performed his marital duties._ She would have laughed, if she could even think of it. “Do you know if women in your bloodline share these symptoms?

\- There is not a lot of Arryn women left. There was only my mother but she…”

 

She stopped, interrupted by her own thoughts. _She died in labour,_ she meant to say. Her mother, Lady Rowena Arryn, was some distant cousin of her father and his second wife. She knew close to nothing about her, for she died very little time after they married – a few hours after giving birth to a daughter. When she was younger, she asked questions about her, but no one knew anything about the late Lady Rowena. It was as if she had never existed, or rather, that she had only existed to give birth to her. She never even saw a portrait of her, never knew what she looked like.

All she knew about this woman was that she died in labour, after a very difficult pregnancy. Now she knew another thing: she had passed on this weakness to her daughter. Shara chuckled bitterly at the thought. She often forgot she was not just her father’s daughter – she often forgot she even had a mother. What a way to remember her, really. What a way to remember how fragile a woman’s life is. The maester remained quiet, his eyes gentle and free of judgement.

 

“She died when she gave birth to me. I heard she had a complicated pregnancy as well.

\- Then you must not take any risk. I suppose you were riding a horse on your way to Wickenden?” She nodded. “This has to stop. Riding is probably the worst thing you can do in your state. You should almost have more rest than…

\- Do you know why I am here, maester?

\- I heard that you are trying to oust Lord Baelish from the Eyrie, and I suppose that is why you have such a numerous army following you?

\- Then you know that I cannot just have more rest. This is a war, trying not to become a full-fledged one. _Rest_ is not an option.”

 

He remained desperately calm, as if he expected that much from her. _Great,_ she groaned internally. _Now I am predictable enough for unknown people to actually expect things from me._ She frowned and stood up, ignoring her dizziness to walk to the nearest window. It overlooked the inner court of the castle where Jaime was training the youngest soldiers of her armies. His golden hand caught the sunlight and reflected it toward the castle proper, near her. She winced when a movement sent the light directly to her eyes and her sudden move caught his attention. He raised his eyes and eyed her. She nodded to acknowledge his presence. _He will understand something is off,_ she thought. If he was clever enough to notice her ailments, he would clever enough to see... Everything. Not that she could really hide anything – after a while, everything would be pretty obvious.

Jaime was going for a wave when she heard the maester clearing his throat. She turned away to look at him and watched him standing up as well, seemingly unconcerned by the situation. It was unnerving – almost more unnerving that if he berated her for her recklessness. It would be in more in character, though.

 

“I cannot force you to stop running in circle,” he said. “I would not, and even if I wanted, I hardly have any way to compel you. But would you allow me to give you one piece of advice?

\- By all means, maester, go ahead. I am all ears.

\- You may be waging a war, but it will be a pretty useless war if you die in the middle of it. And this is exactly what is going to happen if you do not stop running in circle.” He shrugged. “But who am I, after all, if not someone who has helped dozens of women give birth already?

\- Keep your sarcasms for your other patients. This is not warranted.

\- As you wish, my Lady.”

 

He bowed, hardly deeper enough though. She watched him head for the door. _He is a clever one,_ she thought. She could not stop _running in circles_ , as he said, but she could not risk dying either. It was one thing to accept the possibility of it – it was a whole other to _take_ the risk. As astute as Jaime Lannister could sometimes be, especially when she was involved, he could not do anything for her and she had no personal maester to assist her until she could order maester Colemon to return to her service. Plus, she could not blame him for his sarcasm when it also was her favourite weapon, right? _I simply rather have it in my hands than in others._

Lord Waxley would probably be displeased by the idea of losing his maester, but she could have another one summoned. She took a deep breath, sighed and hailed him. He froze in his movement toward the door and obediently turned to face her. He was not smiling, but she could see _victory_ blazing in his eyes as if he already knew what she going to say. _I am going to regret that,_ she mused.

 

“What is your name, maester?

\- Ruben, my Lady.

\- Maester Ruben,” she continued, calm as ever. “I ask you to join me in my journey to the Eyrie, so that you can ensure that I am not… _Running in circles_ too much.

\- I serve Lord Waxley, my Lady. You should probably ask him.

\- And it so happens that Lord Waxley serves me.” She tilted her head. “And I am asking you, not him.”

 

There was a pause, during which the young and brash maester gauged her as if trying to assess whether she was worried or not. _Oh worry not I am._ She was simply not going to show him any amount of it. She already could hear the little, dark voice in her head whispering that she was risking her life now, more than ever, because she promised an heir to Tywin Lannister and let him make sure she would hold on to that promise. She shrugged it off for now.

 

“It could be an interesting journey,” he eventually said. “I have never been to the Eyrie before.

\- Very well then. I shall arrange that with Lord Waxley when I see him next. You may go.

\- I believe there is someone at your door, my Lady. Should I let this person enter?

\- Let me guess,” she sighed. “This person is Ser Jaime?

\- I know not, my Lady.

\- Whether it is him or not, tell this person I am resting and do not want to be disturbed.”

 

She turned away and headed toward the small table against the southern wall, near the window that overlooked the valley. She took a piece of parchment from her belongings, a vial of ink and a quill to answer to her _Lord husband._ When she reached the moment when she was supposed to inform him of the… Maester’s diagnosis, she stopped and kept her quill in mid-air. She could not tell him. If she did, he would instantly have her brought back to the capital by his entire army if need be. Not of her, of course – she was a nice way to stave off boredom and loneliness while she lasted, but he would not go his way to bring her back simply because she was _weaker_ than most pregnant women.

For the child, or whatever it was at that moment. She lowered her eyes and looked at her still very flat belly. She hated the idea of something growing inside of her being more important than her, and justifying the end of her crusade against Baelish. Whoever this child would be, she could not, would not end this war for them. _This is my victory to have,_ she thought bitterly. _And no one is robbing me of it._ Not even herself – not even the promise she made to Tywin.

For as long as she could, this would remain a secret. Once near the Eyrie, the news would be slower to arrive and slower to leave and she would keep a close eye on the communications of her Lords and Lady. As for Jaime… At some point she would have a conversation with him, and make sure he saw her interest in this affair. But for now, no one could know. Her bannermen would mistake it for weakness, and they would not miss the occasion to get rid of a cumbersome Lady – her army would follow them. She had no intention to return to the capital without the Eyrie in her hands again. _I want it all,_ she thought. _Or I want nothing at all._ Either she would return with the Eyrie, or not return at all. Tywin’s fury would be someone’s concern anyway. 

 _Maester Ruben has no firm diagnosis, as I was expecting,_ she wrote, consciously veiling the full truth behind half-truth, _but thinks it might be a mixture of overwork, long days riding and too little pauses. I have decided, according to his advice, to continue the journey to the Eyrie in one of my carriages to spare myself._ All of that was generally true, for her state was not made better by any of these things – and she was indeed going to use the carriage. That was enough truth for him. She would face his anger later, once he realized that she could not have ignored her state for most of the journey. _If I face it,_ she corrected with a bitter smile, as she continued writing.

She had lived frustrating moments before, obviously. Being thrown into a cell because of Petyr Baelish’s treachery was one. Being betrayed by Stannis Baratheon for the same reason was another. But each of these times, at least part of the problem did not originate from her. This, however, was an entirely personal problem that no one except her had caused. _Well, and Tywin, but he has not caused my weakness._ She could have blamed her mother but she was certain she had no idea she had this ailment before she died of it. It was all about her, and yet she had no choice in the matter: all she could do was trying to survive it, or die trying. 

She banged her hand on the table out of this _unnerving_ feeling of frustration. It could not be the way she ended – she could not _die_ in labour like any other woman, poor or rich, common or noble. She was not some other woman. She was Shara Arryn. She had done… So many terrible and great things, too many things to simply die like this. This could not be her legacy. _She who rose, rose, until she died like the woman she was._ She frowned and shook her head. No, it could not be her legacy.

Her death could not be quiet and sad, exhausted and silent. She wanted blood, and fire, and storms to match all the blood she spilled, the fire she caused and the storms she craved for. She could not be another Lyanna Stark dying in a pool of her own blood, caught by a fever in a lonely tower. _I am not going to be another Joanna Lannister._ The child she had promised Tywin was only a mean to an end, and she had not reached this end yet. _I am not wearing a crown yet._

She closed her eyes and made another promise, to herself this time, that this child would not kill her, would not stop her, would not slow her down. If this child was anything like his father, anything like his mother, then it would survive, hold unto life and wait for his time to come. _Us Arryn are patient people,_ she thought. _We wait, and wait, at the top of our tower for the first flakes of snow. And only then do we climb down from our sky._ So the child would wait too for winter to be there. She smirked. A winter child, to be the heir of the most powerful summer man. Adequate.

After a while she heard another set of knockings on her door. She ignored it, at first, but it continued.

 

“Lady Arryn,” a voice rung. Lord Waxley’s. “I am sorry to disturb you, but an envoy has arrived from Heart’s Home. Lord Corbray wants to negotiate.

\- Does he want to negotiate the terms of Lord Baelish’s surrender?

\- No, my Lady.” A silence. Awkward. “I believe he wants to negotiate our surrender.

\- Then send him back to Heart’s Home with a full flask of fresh water and food for his way back.” She looked at the door. “Do you realize he was coming for you, my Lord?

\- I… Thought that much when he arrived. Is my Lady alright?

\- I need rest, my Lord, nothing more,” she slowly said. “Send him back with a message, if you please?

\- Which one?”

_Cursed be his master and his master’s master,_ she thought. Obviously she said none of it. She smirked to herself and carefully sealed her letter to Tywin. She stared the wax as it dried, a soft and pastel blue on the cream parchment. She rose from her seat, walked toward the door. Opened it, slowly, to face a surprised Lord Waxley. He bent the knee while she gestured him to stay on his feet. She smiled and tilted her head, ignoring the way it spun.

 

“I want him to tell Lord Corbray that we are coming for him and all those who believed it was possible to rise against house Arryn,” she said, detaching every word so that he could remember them all. “Have him tell his master, and his master’s master, that Shara Arryn is coming.”

 

 _Let it be known,_ she wanted to add, _let it be known by all, that I am coming for them all._


	21. When darkness falls...

The rest of the journey was more of the same; the convoy, slowly passing through villages, small towns and actual towns alike, convincing the small Lords that dwelled there to send a few men to accompany the hundreds that already accompanied her. Some of them did it willingly, others did it because they hardly had any other choice – some others clearly were not satisfied. None of them really opposed resistance, though, contrary to what she thought.

She could not help thinking that this was all some plan fomented by Baelish, but it was also possible that he simply could not control whoever had sworn to stand by his side now that she was roaming the Vale with more men than he ever controlled… And the silent promise that she could summon twice the amount from King’s Landing. _That is the beauty in it,_ she mused as she watched through her carriage’s window. _I never even said it. They just know._

She had not heard any whisper regarding her state and the fact that she no longer rode her horse, but then again she hardly ever talked to them. The convoy did not make any actual stop, for they had no time to lose now. They had already reached the High Road, and were heading north toward the Bloody Gate. Lady Anya Waynwood was particularly proud to announce that _her son_ was guarding the Gate since Lord Bryden Tully resigned from the position – and that he would obviously open them wide for them.

 _Convenient._ She had to keep her wits and attention for Baelish. She knew how much of an ordeal it would be to deal with him, even grossly outnumbered and cornered. As Tywin told her a few times already, the Eyrie was a rather _convenient_ place to dispose of a cumbersome and ambitious bird. She did not want it to be like Stannis’ demise; she wanted it to be more satisfying. She did not just want him to fly down to his death. She wanted him to _feel_ it coming. To fly down from his pedestal before he fled down from the castle he wished he could have owned – to crumble down like the house of cards he was, before he vanished from this world.

She hardly saw Jaime at all. He spent his time at the vanguard, and never really sat with her inside the carriage. They had not talked more than a few minutes since what happened in her room, in Gulltown’s castle, and she was not sure how to interpret his silence. She suspected he simply did not want to waste more time trying to talk with her. _I cannot blame him._ She had no time to think about Jaime and her, lately – her entire mind was set on Baelish, but still. At night, sometimes, when she could not sleep, she thought about their last conversation and she…

Well, she regretted her words. She had been harsh, uselessly, but what else could she had done? Let him believe he could just… Lull her, with his sudden gentleness? Like a lost child? _No._ Never.

Though maester Rubben was rather convincingly annoying in the advices he gave her every hour she lived, she did not leave him the choice as to the way she wanted to arrive by the Bloody Gate. On her horse. She felt better, and even if she knew it was due to the amount of rest she was getting, and she wanted to enjoy it while she could. That, and she knew that there were small outposts where the Gates of the Moon and the Eyrie’s guards could watch over the High Road.

So she did ride her horse on the very last day of journey before reaching the Bloody Gate. This time, Jaime was next to her and they rode just after the standard bearer. They could already see the massive figure of the main arch of the stronghold as they made their way through the narrow path carved into the Mountains of the Mood. There was almost a day-worth of travel between the vanguard and the very last men of the army, now – and it would not get better as they went higher and higher in the mountains. After crossing the largest part of the Vale, the path would get narrower and narrowed until it turned into a goat trail that winded around the peaks and crevasses of the mountains.

 

“We can hardly see you without your maester these days,” Jaime Lannister commented after hours of completely silence. “For someone who was so unwilling to seek advice from one, what a change of character.

\- Well, I am in better health now, am I not? I can recognize when I was wrong.

\- He has not put you in better shape,” he scoffed, looking at her sideways. “He has magically changed you. Who is he and what has he done to Shara Arryn?

\- Laugh, laugh while you can. In a matter of days we will be in the Eyrie and there is not going to be much to laugh about.”

 

He rolled his eyes and groaned in frustration. She cut short the conversation, fearing that he might mention Gulltown’s conversation – and it was _not_ the right moment. She feigned to be concentrated on the path and let her mind wander a bit. She had received two letters from Tywin during the last twenty days of journey – and sent back the same number. He seemed to believe what she told him about her health, and especially seemed satisfied with the idea of her being accompanied by a maester. Between the lines, she understood that king Tommen was slowly getting used to the new role he had to play, and that queen Margaery was _greatly_ helping him. She was not sure what he meant exactly when he insisted on her help, but she was not too surprised to hear that she was not giving much space to her _young_ husband. It was only a matter of time before she tried to press her luck, and encouraged him to follow _her_ advices instead of his grandfather’s.

 _Not that she would be so upfront about it,_ she thought. She wondered if her grandmother was still pulling the strings. Quite the couple they made, Tommen and her, if they were controlled by Tywin on one side and Olenna on the other. She was not going to let her take the upper hand, obviously; once back in the Red Keep, she would resume her work beside Tywin. Without Cersei Lannister around, it would be only too easy to fill the empty spot she left. She smirked while thinking about, and Jaime caught the change of mood.

 

“Are you already taking pleasure in Littlefinger’s gruesome fate?

\- That would be very unwise,” she retorted, instantly losing her smile. “To rejoice in something that is yet to happen.

\- Indeed, so it must be something else. Is my dear father whispering sweet nothings to you through his letters?

\- You are awfully curious today, are you not?” She turned her head to look at him. “What is it, Ser? Are you nervous?

\- Nervous about what? Your crusade against Baelish? Please. If anything, I am looking forward the end of it.” He sighed and frowned. “So that we can head back to King’s Landing and be done with these cursed mountains of yours. It is no surprise no one except bloody _dragonriders_ attacked you in centuries.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, listening to his rant while avoiding some rocks that fell from the nearby cliff. _Well well,_ she mused. _How moody of him._ The Bloody Gate was getting nearer and nearer but given how slowly they were going, they still had a dozens of minutes of ride before they actually reached the gates. And Jaime Lannister looked positively _annoyed_ and frustrated. The weather was getting worse and worse, but it was not because they were heading toward the Eyrie – Winter was just coming. She was almost expecting to see flakes of snow once in the Eyrie. But he had seen worse than just cold air and drafts, so obviously it was something else. _Something to do with King’s Landing, perhaps?_ She turned her head toward the path, imagining what could disturb him that much.

 _Gods it is obvious._ Cersei. He probably tried to send her a letter or two while in Wickenden or Gulltown, but she never replied. _She never got the letter._ She was already gone, far west, with the Tyrells as her only company. And he had no idea, of course. She refrained from biting her lips and simply continued to pretend nothing happened for a while. She only spoke again when she decided tension had subsided.

 

“Are you missing the cesspool you call a capital, Ser?

\- A cesspool I recall you rather appreciated these last, what, fifteen years?” She frowned. He scoffed. “The answer is no, as far as you are concerned. I am simply tired of these days of horse riding.

\- As we all are. Then why are you so eager to return there?

\- Stop asking questions before I start doing the same.” He darted her a side-glance. “We both know how this is going to end.”

 

She gritted her teeth and, for once, obeyed. They resumed their riding in silence, looking at the nearing watchtowers as the bridge that joined them gradually appeared. She remembered this path, though she had not walked it a lot of times. She remembered that, once the great gates open, one could see the opening between the ever higher mountains, a slit on a vista made of brighter colours than anywhere in Westeros. Bright green, for the fields and the grass of the valley. Bright blue for the sky. When it was clear enough, one could see the bright white of seven spears of the Eyrie, and the shimmering snowcapped peaks of the mountains. And they were lucky – the sky was the clearest they had in days. All of them would see the magnificence of the Vale – her Vale.

 _It is both a curse and a blessing,_ she thought as she straightened her posture on her mount, _that the Eyrie can be reached through only one path._ Gulltown was not technically that far from the mountains, but there was no way through them, over them or under them that could lead straight to the Eyrie. The only path was the one they were walking. And the first obstacle was standing tall in front of them, guarding one of the smallest part of the Vale. 

When they reached the gates proper, they immediately noticed the many soldiers on top of the watchtowers, wearing Arryn and Waynwood colours. Archers, all of them, bending their bows and waiting of their order. She gestured the convoy behind her to stop and made a few more steps toward the stronghold with Jaime and her standard bearer as her only escort. She stopped when close enough to be able to talk with whoever stood above the gates, but far enough to be able to retreat if need be. She cleared her voice and waited of the usual question to echo.

 

“Who would pass the Bloody Gate?” a solemn voice asked.

\- The rightful Lady of these lands,” she replied, just as solemnly. “Shara of House Arryn, demands passage through the Bloody Gate.

\- The laws of the Gods and the men made you a Lannister the day you married one of them.” _This is not Donnel Waynwood,_ she realized. The voice was too old to the young man it was supposed to belong to. “And the rightful Lady of these lands would not need an army to escort her.

\- And you, my Lord, are not the Knight of the Gate. I demand to see Ser Donnel Waynwood.

\- Ser Donnel has surrendered his position to me, Lady Lannister.”

 

And indeed, as the voice grew clearer, she saw none else than Ser Lyn Corbray appear between the crenels of the bridge between the two towers. She refrained from cursing and remained still on her mount as she felt Jaime tensing. This was not planned – of course it was not. They had received no notice of the change of position, and she was rather sure Ser Donnel had not willingly surrendered his position to Baelish’s leech. She kept the eyes planted in his, refusing the mishap to disturb her plans. They would pass the Bloody Gate, whatever it took.

She could still hear the noises of her army’s armours as the soldiers all stopped. Thousands of men were awaiting an order from her; one single word and they would attack. The Bloody Gate could host a few thousands men, but it had been left under-protected for decades and there could not be more than a few hundreds men in there. _Not if Littlefinger hopes to protect the Eyrie,_ she thought. The Gates of the Moon were bigger, and if he had men to stack somewhere he probably stacked them there.

 _But that is exactly what he wants me to do._ If she unleashed her men against the Bloody Gate, she would show to the entire Vale that Valemen’s lives were not important if they happened to stand between her and her title. She was not bothered to let her bannermen think that much, but the people? It was a dangerous idea to plant in their mind. She could not deal with some mass rebellion of her people at the moment. They did not seem to have decided who to stand for, mostly because Baelish never harmed them and probably promised to reduce the levy on their harvest. One single nudge on the balance and it would tip… In one direction or the othr.

 

“The title is not one anyone can surrender to someone else, Ser,” she calmly said. “Who named you?

\- Lord Petyr Baelish, in his quality of regent to his goodson Lord Robert Arryn.

\- Only the rightful Lord of the Eyrie can name the Knight of the Gate. Has Lord Baelish been officially named regent of my brother?” She discreetly gestured Jaime to call forth the Lords Declarant while she continued to speak. He understood, and turned back to return to the ranks. “Has a royal decree made his position rightful?

-Only the Lords and the Lady of the Vale can decree who their liege is, not foreigners. Especially not Lannister usurper sitting on a glorified iron chair.

\- Careful, Ser Corbray,” she warned him with a smile. “One could think you are speaking ill of your king.”

 

A pause. The soldiers were still aiming at both her and the general direction of her army behind. She turned her head for a second to see the Lords Declarant, as well as the other Lords and Ladies who had joined the convoy on its ways to the Eyrie, reaching her on their own mounts. Obviously Lord Royce and Lady Waynwood rode first and stopped only a few inches behind her. The usually tempered and calm Lady Anya looked utterly furious not to see her son on the bridge, but remained silent as she looked daggers as the impostor.

She let the sight carve into the mind of the soldiers, let them count how many of the great Lords and Ladies of the Vale stood behind her, before she turned to Ser Corbray again. He was too high for her to really see his reaction, but it could not be good. He was alone in his stronghold, waiving around an Arryn banner as if it meant anything. If she could convince his men to turn against him… He would lose. Very few men care to die for honour or loyalty, as she had come to understand, but no man at all wishes to die to pay for someone else’s pride. No matter of many there truly were inside the towers, they were no match against her thousands. It did not need to go this far, however; they just needed to see that they were standing on the wrong side of the line.

 

“But I must say that I agree with you. Only Lords and Ladies of the Vale can decide who is their rightful liege. How many stand by the so-called Lord Regent, Ser Lyn?

\- You threatened these great Lords and Ladies into supporting your treacherous claim,” he spat out. _He is angry. Good._ “It is not Shara Arryn who stands before the Bloody Gate, but Tywin Lannister in disguise. Lannister scums are not welcome in the Vale!

\- Surely they are not, and yet I do recall Lord Baelish working very closely with my Lord husband during the war,” she noted. “I suppose he does not count as a Lannister scum, given that he married none?

\- Your treacherous wits may have scared some, but I am not one to be fooled so easily and neither are my men.

\- Your men, you say?”

 

She turned her head to the several soldiers, looking at them one by one. They were not Corbray men – they were Arryn soldiers. Perhaps some men who had stayed when Ser Bryden left the Gate, and there may have been some Waynwood who had accepted to bend the neck before the next _Knight of the Gate._ But they owed no loyalty to him directly. Perhaps some of them really swore fealty to Baelish, but she was not even sure he had the time to actually ask them. They were just men who were trying to gain enough money to feed their family, and accepted any order that came as long as they continued to be paid.

She chuckled and raised her eyes again. Ser Corbray had not moved from the crenels. Did he realize that he had already lost? She was not sure. Or mayhap was he just trying to buy some time. _Not that it will change anything,_ she thought. As far as she was concerned, Lyn Corbray was amongst those who could not be redeemed. If she could do as she wished, she would have his head sent straight to Baelish, but that was too much of a _Lannister_ thing for the Vale. A scornful smile would do.

 

“These men are not yours, Ser, and I believe they may be smarter than you are.

\- How dare you…

\- Why do I say that?” she pretended to have heard. “Why, because they have a survival instinct of course. They know how to add two to two, and know how many we are… And how few they are.

\- Are you threatening men you pretend to call your own?

\- I would never threaten Valemen.” She frowned, enough to be seen by all. “But you are, through your reckless and prideful behaviour.”

 

Her voice echoed between the two rows of mountains on each side of the road and the silence that replied was deafening. She could hear whispers behind her, voices of the soldiers who wondered if she truly was going to unleash them against her own castle. _No_ , she thought. _Not today._ She was not going to sacrifice her men’s lives for this. She needed the full number of her army until the very end, until the moment she would spend inside the Eyrie and have Baelish seized and thrown into a sky cell. If they remained peaceful, they would be the living proof of both her legitimacy _and_ her mercy. _Mercy,_ she repeated mentally, smiling to herself. _Mercy._ What a beautiful word it was. What a lie as well, to call what she was doing _mercy_. It was the Rains of Castamere again, she simply had no river to reroute to drown Baelish and his sycophants, and she loved the Eyrie too much to endanger it with water. _Or fire._

Blood would do, though, once inside the High Hall. The Vale was all in bright and cool colours, usually – white, blue, green, and so was the Eyrie. All in shades of cream, azure and silver. She wondered what it would be like, to see red smeared across the blue-veined white marble of the Hall. Blood red on the marble white, like the colours she wore in King’s Landing. _Tywin would be proud._ She was getting more and more used to his colours.

 

“I would never endanger fellow Valemen’s lives for the sake of my pride,” she continued, ignoring Jaime’s discreet smirk. “But would you, Ser?

\- You are the one standing before the Bloody Gate with the numerous army of the invader. I am simply guarding the High Road to protect our Lord Regent from your vile attack!

\- I see no attack, Ser Corbray, nor do I see any drawn swords in my soldiers’ hand.” She climbed down from her horse, as carefully as possible and made a few more steps towards the gates. Some bows followed her. “But you asked your men to bend their bow against great Lords and Ladies, born and raised in the Vale, loyal to nothing but Arryn blood, before we even could talk. If anything, you are attacking. Not us.

\- Let us see if you are not attacking. Archers!”

 

Those who had dropped their guard suddenly raised their bows again and aimed again. Those who were supposed to aim at her were now close enough to be able to see her face, to see her entirely – and so was she. She turned her head and looked at one of them. Young, though not younger than she was. He had blue eyes and dark hair, a fair skin and a shining armour. He was new. And though his hands were not trembling, his eyes could not hold her gaze. _Would he shoot his arrow?_ she wondered. Would they shoot her, if he asked them to? Some part of her wanted to know and wanted to try. Some dark, twisted part, that had enough of this little game they were playing.

She heard Jaime Lannister’s horse making a few steps toward her, but she gestured him to stay away. He tried to say something but she shook her head. He would not help. She was not scared. These arrows pointed at her were no worse than the chopping block she had been promised after the Battle of the Blackwater – these arrows were no worse than the unfortunate accident in Casterly Rock Tywin casually reminded her of when she was getting too close to the line. She was not scared. _I am angry._

 

“You may have forgotten the Baratheon Rebellion, Ser Corbray,” she spoke higher than before, so that the entire valley could hear her. “So allow me to refresh your memories. Do you remember what happened when Lord Jon Arryn called his bannermen and understood some of them would not answer the call?

\- Archers,” Lyn Corbray repeated. “At my signal…

\- Shara,” Jaime Lannister called again. “Step away!

\- Lord Jon Arryn unleashed the bannermen who answered the call against Gulltown, and slew Ser Marq Grafton as well as many members of the House. You gained your knighthood while fighting for king Aerys, and yet joined my late father in battle afterward.” She made another step toward the dark-haired and blue-eyed boy. He gulped. “My honourable father showed no mercy toward those who slighted his authority. Many died this day, noble and baseborn alike. I am eager to show you the mercy he refused them.

\- Lady Arryn, this needs to stop, you will not…”

 

She raised her hand, and Lord Royce quieted. The tension was so high that she wondered if one of the archers was not just going to release his arrow out of distraction. She turned her eyes away from the boy and looked around her, opening her arms wide around her.

 

“I, Shara of House Arryn, rightful Lady of the Vale and Warden of the East, order you to lower your bows and join my army,” she declared in an even stronger voice. “And I swear, by the Old Gods and the New, that no harm shall come to you. See the faces of the soldiers who stand before you; see how alike you all are. Valemen, loyal to the end. Remember who you are loyal to.

\- Enough!”

 

 _This is it,_ she thought. _This is where you live or die._ She took a deep breath and headed toward the young archer. The arrow he held tight was slightly trembling now as she extended a hand toward him as to take the bow from his hands. He stepped back, as if scared, and straightened his posture. She was so close, so close that the arrow, if released, would instantly kill her. _Fire! Fire!_

A few arrows were released, indeed, and one of them hit a horse who neighed painfully and kicked the standard bearer who mounted it. She ignored it. The boy had not fired, he was still holding the arrow between his fingers. She tilted her head and repeated her promise to him alone. His lips quivered. _FIRE!_ An arrow hit the standard bearer on the ground. The Lords Declarant were standing still, terrified as they understood that they had no control over what was going to happen.

He made a step toward her and the tension in his shoulders vanished as he put the bow in her hands. _FIRE!_ No arrow was released this time. All the bows fell on the ground as she held the one that could have killed her in her hands. She took the arrow and stared at it for a few seconds. She made a few steps back so that she could see Lyn Corbray again, as well as the archers already fighting on the bridge, some trying to prevent the others from firing again.

She darted a look behind her and caught Jaime Lannister’s stare. She nodded. _Take the Bloody Gate._ He clenched his jaw, turned back and screamed the silent order she gave him as she returned to her own horse, the arrow still in her hands. As she climbed on her horse, she saw the gates slowly opening. She followed Lord Royce when he asked her to go seek shelter while the army took the stronghold and watched the unstoppable advance of her army swallow the castle and open wide the gates to let the flood of men enter the Vale proper. 

 _Nothing can stop us now,_ she mused, her fingers grazing on the arrow. It was the first battle of her conquest of the Vale, and it was a battle without bloodshed. _And so it begins._ Vengeance still awaited, but it knew now, it knew that it was soon to be quenched. She raised her head to look at the mountaintops, where she knew Baelish’s men hidden in lookout posts were watching. _And so it begins.  
_


	22. ... Fate calls

As she suspected, the Bloody Gate was underguarded and understaffed. Donnel Waynwood, once freed from the cell he had been thrown into by Ser Lyn Corbray, explained that immediately after hearing about her arrival in Gulltown Baelish recalled most of the soldiers posted in the Bloody Gate for that they could become _Lord Robert’s personal guard._ He only left as little men as possible and, after a while, sent Lyn Corbray to depose him as the Knight of the Gate. He never got the chance to send a missive to his mother to warn her about what happened.

Given the strategic position of the Gate, she asked Lady Anya Waynwood to leave a good portion of her men within the stronghold to ensure that Littlefinger was not going to make a pincer attack on her army. _I would, if I were him._ Apparently there was no sign of movement on the High Road and those of her bannermen who had not yet made their allegiance clear did not seem to be gathering their host. Supposedly, the whole of Petyr Baelish’s army was stationed either within the Gates of the Moon or on the way towards the Eyrie, in Stone, Snow and Sky. Scouts had already left the Bloody Gate to investigate on the matter.

She had settled inside one of the many empty bedrooms of the stronghold, one that overlooked the Vale proper. It was a marvellous sight, one she realized she had mostly forgotten. King’s Landing was all in shades of red, brown and a dirty gold – the Lannisters just had to insist on the colours to make it their own, really. Behind the walls there was not much and the war had turned the surrounding field barren and grey.

But the Vale of Arryn was green, lively, hospitable. The air smelled pure and fresh, purer and fresher than even the Blackwater’s air when it reached the capital. It was colder as well, but she felt slightly less affected by the icy drafts now that she was compelled to rest most of her time. The furs she wrapped herself with helped, obviously. 

As she stared at the evening vista outside her window, she could not shake the strange feeling that warmed her even more than her furs. A sense of _belonging_ , an almost eerily one. Being an Arryn had always been a pride, at first simply because her father told her it was something to be proud of. Once old enough to comprehend the full meaning of it, she embraced her father’s pride and made it her own, making a point of wearing their colours as often as possible, reminding the entire world that she was the worthy heir of a centuries-old house, the purest and the noblest of all.

But she had always been an Arryn more than she had ever been a Valewoman. If anything, she always believed she belonged in King’s Landing, where everything happened, where the king and his court were. Her memories of her birthplace and birthright slowly grew dimmer as years went by, and only seldom returning in the Vale never helped. Being an Arryn was a pride, but it was also a weapon; she considered it her greatest weapon, until she became a Lannister as well. She was an Arryn, so she was born to rule the Vale. She was an Arryn, so she deserved respect. She was an Arryn, so she could wield power like her ancestors once did.

It was only now that she realized that being an Arryn also meant feeling at home in these green, blue and white lands. Her memories were far, and they were as blurry as before, but the _feeling_ was familiar. The cold wind, the colours, the sound of the wind howling through the mountains, the smell of the air… It was all like a distant tune those lyrics she could not remember, but could still hum. It was comfortable and it was disturbing at the same time, how much old memories died hard. _Is that why he regretted the Vale?_ Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the king, had spent his life in his castle upon the mountains, amongst the greenery and the everlasting snow – and the last fifteen years in a glorified cesspit. She absent-mindedly reached for her belly. _Whoever this child is going to be,_ she promised herself, _they will see the Vale more than I did._

 

“Lady Shara?” She almost jumped in surprise and quickly put her hand elsewhere. It was Jaime Lannister’s voice. “May I enter?

\- You may.”

 

She remained seated on the windowsill but turned her head to watch him enter. He bended his neck, probably out of reflex more than anything else, and slightly frowned when he saw where she was. He then noticed the window and, as if drawn as well by the scenery, came to sit next to her, on the other side of the windowsill. He put what he was holding – a plate, with vegetables and a piece of meat on it, between them. For a while he said nothing, he just looked outside, embracing a vista he had never seen before. She let him. This kind of silence was comfortable to dwell on.

 

“I simply came to bring you some food, and tell you that the scouts are expected to return by tomorrow morning,” he eventually said, still staring outside. “You will probably want to gather the Lords and Ladies to tell them what you will do, depending on what they found.

\- I will, of course. We still have no information regarding Lord Nestor Royce?

\- None whatsoever. Ser Donnel said he has not received any notice from him ever since Petyr Baelish declared himself regent.” He shrugged and turned his head to look at her. “Still convinced he is not dead?

\- Littlefinger prides himself on having seized power without any casualty. He probably would have used him as an example, if he had killed him.”

 

She shook her head and sighed. Nestor Royce’s fate concerned her, of course, but the absolute lack of information about him was worrying her even more. It meant that no one had heard about the Gates of the Moon in months. It could be filled with more soldiers than she imagined, used as an actual stronghold to block the path to the Eyrie. As numerous as her army was, it would exhaust itself against the walls of the Gates if he decided to close them. It would take weeks, perhaps months to besiege it successfully. _Enough time for Baelish to summon the rest of his potential army,_ she thought. And enough time for her to be… Unable to continue her war.

Shaking off the thought, she took the plate he had placed on the windowsill and thoughtfully nibbled the food. It was nothing much, but she had not realized she was hungry before she smelled it. She had spent most of her afternoon by the window, watching the sky going from blue to a bluish purple, then purplish pink. The entire vista was now bathed in a dark blue hue and the sun had almost completely disappeared behind the mountains.

 

“I probably should not say that,” he smirked. “But what you did yesterday? That was something.

\- Have I heard that right? Is Jaime Lannister complimenting me?

\- Do not get me wrong.” He chuckled. “That was incredibly reckless and as someone who is supposed to ensure your safety, I order you to never do that again.

\- I can feel the _but_ in there.

 _\- But_ as a foolish knight who has never been known for being particularly cautious, I must say that was a stroke of genius.” There was a gleam in his eyes that resembled “You managed to convince your soldiers as well as Baelish’s that you trust your people so much that you are not afraid to place yourself in front of a bended bow. Even those who did not see you have heard about it.

\- Then I am glad you liked it, even if I must admit it was not that thoroughly thought. I was trying to defuse the situation and prevent a massacre.

\- That you did.”

 

As surprising at it was, he seemed truly impressed by the feat. _You surely did not look that happy when said feat was happening._ He probably pictured her, dead on the ground, an arrow nailed in her chest – and pictured himself trying to explain what happened to his father who expressly told him to bring her back in one living piece. She could not help smiling back and shook her head. She did not realize it had taken such proportions. She thought only the Lords and Ladies saw her, as well as a few soldiers – she did not think her reckless adventure would mean anything. _If Tywin hears about it…_ She chuckled as she put away the empty plate to give more space to Jaime’s legs, bent on her windowsill. He raised an eyebrow.

 

“What is so amusing?

\- I promise I will not tell your father,” she said, still smiling. “If you promise you will not either.

\- How very hopeful of you to think he will not hear about it anyway. But alright, you have a deal.”

 

He scoffed as he turned his head to look outside for a few more seconds. He seemed to be willing to say something, but he stopped before actually speaking. His eyes were lost outside, as well as his mind, probably. The sun kept disappearing behind the mountains, and soon enough there would be nothing to look at outside, except for the moon and the towering shadows of the Mountains of the Moon. _At night,_ she mused, _the Vale is like the capital. Except more peaceful and less murderous._ The stronghold was still rustling with life but, as night set in, it would soon grow silent.

 _Why is he still there?_ He obviously did not come simply to give her some food and tell her what she already knew. She looked at him. For someone who had spent weeks journeying with an army, he looked surprisingly good. _Stupid question. When does he not?_ He actually looked better than when they left. After all, he said it himself; he was a foolish knight not particularly known for his caution. He was made for long campaigns throughout the realm, for these morning trainings she knew he organized for the youngest recruits of her army, not for the schemes of the court. The design of the Gods was a strange one indeed; how could he be born of the same womb as his sister? She instantly shrugged off the thought of Cersei. He had to know… But not now. It was not the right time. _Is it ever going to be?_

 

“I must say…” He woke her up from her thoughtful slumber. “I have to admit this is a beautiful place. I was not expecting this kind of scenery behind the Bloody Gate.

\- It really is. To be honest with you, I had almost forgotten just how beautiful the Vale was,” she smiled. She did not feel like mocking him. “Have you ever seen something so stunning before?

\- There are many incredible sceneries in this realm but… No, I must recognize that I had never seen this kind of things before,” he nodded. “The mountains, the snow, the sky and the valley… It looks like the seven Kingdoms all gathered in one place.

\- I wonder what reminds you of the Iron Islands. Maybe the sheep? They do have resemble Ironborn, in a certain light.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled. She followed suit. “I am glad, then, that you came to see the beauty of the Vale. How surprising that you never actually came before.

\- Well, I was meant to. It never happened, but I was supposed to pay a visit to your father on behalf of the Mad King, at the very beginning of the rebellion.”

 

He did not have to say why; she could very well imagine _why_ king Aerys wanted one of his Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard to head straight to the Vale at the earliest hours of the rebellion. Only a madman could believe it was possible to negotiate with Lord Jon Arryn the surrender of his beloved wards. _Perhaps that was the point._ After all, Aerys allowed Jaime Lannister to join the Kingsguard only to spite his father – sending him to the hottest point of the war to pretend to negotiate with the three leaders-to-be of the rebellion was a suicide mission. _That had to be the point,_ she decided.

 

“What changed his mind?

\- Your father’s victory in Gulltown. He decided that the Vale of Arryn was not worth saving.” He shrugged, smiling darkly. “So I remained in King’s Landing while the rest of the Sworn Brothers were sent on every front.

\- In hindsight, it saved your life. None of them survived, except for Ser Barristan Selmy.

\- Not that it was Aerys’ objective, but I suppose you can say that,” he admitted. “Prince… Rhaegar Targaryen himself told me he just wanted to keep me as a hostage against my father, in case he decided to join the rebellion.

\- How foolish of him to think it could stop your father.

\- It did, in a way.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, surprised. She had to admit she did not know a lot about what happened during the fateful day that carved the end of the Targaryen rule and the beginning of the Baratheon – she simply knew that Tywin Lannister’s army entered the city, sacked it and slaughtered what remained of the Targaryen family before Eddard Stark even passed the gates. She knew that Jaime Lannister had killed king Aerys, and she knew Princess Elia and her children’s terrible fate. Her father never spoke about it. It was as if what happened this day was too vile, too horrible to even remember.

And it probably was. She did not know what to reply. Last time she tried to get him to talk about it, he pushed her away harder than she pushed him away in Gulltown. She kept quiet, waiting of him to decide whether he wanted to say more or not. When he spoke again, the night had completely fallen outside and only the milky crescent of the moon shone over the mountains and the valley.

 

“He did not force his way into the city. Aerys opened the gates.” She blinked, startled. He scoffed. “You really do not know anything about what happened, do you? It was Grand Maester Pycelle, the treacherous snake, who managed to convince him that Tywin Lannister had come to his defence. He listened to him and disregarded Varys’ advice.

\- He… Let them in?

\- That he did. He regretted it as soon as we started to hear the fighting and screaming.” He shook his head, as if he himself had a hard time believing it happened. “Pycelle never openly admitted he had done that on purpose, of course.

\- But he obviously did. He is not nearly as stupid as he shows,” Shara frowned. She was sitting cross-legged so that she could face Jaime. “It would not be the first nor the last time he served your father more than his king.”

 

He smirked, but it was devoid of any humour or joy. He was just accepting the assessment. She was almost certain that if she asked him he would tell her if Pycelle truly had something to do with her father’s death – but she did not want to. Knowing that he did help whoever tried to kill him would not change anything, it would just make her cohabitation with him harder once back in King’s Landing.

 _How can he look at him in the eyes?_ She had no answer to that question. She did not understand how it was possible for him to see him every day, bending over backwards, stammering on every word while knowing that he got everybody fooled. But then again, there were a lot of things she did not understand about his way of living. How could he stand the sight of the throne room after everything that happened inside? Rickard and Brandon Stark’s deaths, then Aerys’ – and Elia and her children. _How does he do that?_

 

“I was alone in the Red Keep, and I was supposed to protect the entire royal family by myself. Rhaegar charged me with keeping the princess and her children safe, before he left for the Trident.” Though he was looking in her direction, he was not looking at her – he was looking through her. His eyes were lost in distant memories. “The only reasonable thing was to make terms with those who attacked. He refused, of course. Asked me to bring my father’s head to him to prove my loyalty.” His eyes found focus again as he caught her staring. “The messenger who brought his answer told me his Hand was with him.

\- Lord Chelsted?

\- Lord Chelsted was already dead at this point. Burned and cooked alive, like Lord Rickard Stark before him. This Hand was the man who did both of the cooking, Rossart. A pyromancer.”

 

She remained still, almost frozen. Jaime was massaging the spot where his stump was attached to his golden hand, as if remembering the pain. He seemed conflicted, just like he had been before telling her off in the ship. He was reaching the end of the story, the one everyone ignored – the reason why Ned Stark found him sitting on the throne, his dead king at his feet. The flickering flames of the surrounding candles were dancing in his eyes as he stared at her. His green eyes did not leave her as he stopped rubbing his wrist. He shook his head and a sombre laugh escaped his lips.

 

“You do not understand why I speak of this man, do you?

\- I am not sure,” she hesitantly admitted. “I did not know of his existence before you mentioned him.

\- Rightly so. But you are a smart woman, or so they say. You do not need me to understand.” There was a complicated mix of emotions in his eyes. Shame, a lot of it, and pain. Anger. Regrets. Sarcasm. “Spending my days with the king allowed me to hear everything he and his Hand plotted, with two other pyromancers. I heard it all, saw it all. Kept quiet in a corner, under the watchful eye of Varys.

\- Aerys surrounded himself with pyromancers?” She had not asked the question to obtain an answer. She was barely whispering. “What for?”

 

He did not reply. He just stared at her, and she stared back as if the answer could be hidden in his eyes. A shiver ran down her spine as she silently tried to make sense of it all. King Aerys, the pyromancers, the wildfire ordeal he inflicted upon his enemies… The madness, his pyromancer Hand, the plotting… The Sack… _The amount of wildfire they found underneath the Great Sept of Baelor and the Dragonpit._ Her breath got caught in her throat. Jaime chuckled, lowly.

She tried to speak, once, twice, thrice, but no word came out of her mouth. _He wanted the city to burn_. He would have rather seen it destroyed, see every each of its inhabitant dead and him with, than rendered it to Robert Baratheon. He was going to destroy King’s Landing, engulf it in green flames and ensure that the iron throne would never belonged to anyone but him. But Jaime Lannister stopped him, prevented him from doing it.

 

“I killed Rossart as soon as I found him, then Aerys before he could find another pyromancer to give his order to. Burn them all, he kept saying, burn them all. I found the others a few days after the Sack and ended their misery as well.” His eyes had grown dark, almost black. She still could not say anything. “So I did manage to render Shara Arryn speechless, after all. I suppose my speech has this effect on women.

\- Who knows?

\- Two persons in the world. I believe you sent the first to Winterfell with sweet little Sansa.” _Brienne of Tarth._ “And you, now.

\- You saved the city. You saved all the inhabitants, the thousands of them,” she breathed. “You saved your father, his army as well as Ned Stark’s. You saved everyone within the Red Keep.

\- Did I? I believe princess Elia, prince Aegon and princess Rhaenys were not spared.”

 

 _That was not your doing,_ she meant to say. But she did not. Jaime Lannister was not a righteous man, and yet what he did was more righteous than anything ever done by all those self-proclaimed righteous men. He did more for the realm than her father – more than Ned Stark. More than Stannis Baratheon. _More than I will ever do._ And all of them despised him their entire life, she despised him for most of her existence up until she started to loathe her own actions enough to be able to sympathize with another broken soul.

It was not fair. It was not just. Many men were celebrated as heroes of the rebellion and he never was amongst them. He stepped into the war a boy, and stepped out an oathbreaker, a kingslayer. _And he never told anyone._ He kept the truth quiet for more than fifteen years, he bore the burden of it on his own. For a second she felt faint as the sheer idea and looked down at her own hands, wondering what she would have done at his stead. _Would I have been brave enough?_ Would she have given up on her honour and name to save thousands?

 

“Why have you not told anyone? They would have…

\- Believed me?” He scoffed. “Come now, Shara. You do not really believe that. I had just broken one the most sacred oath there is in this realm, even I would not have trusted myself with any attempt to justify the deed. As for Eddard Stark, he took a single look and it was all he needed to judge me guilty.

\- Not every man is like Eddard Stark. Some could have trusted you.

\- How many trusted Stannis Baratheon when he claimed that Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella were bastards? Those who trusted him already. The rest of the realm ignored him.”

 

She remained silent. She could not believe a man could live this long with so heavy a burden – so crushing a secret. Jaime Lannister had saved an entire city and no one would ever know. The Kingslayer was a hero, but he was condemned as a monster. _While the man who danced before the mangled bodies of a woman and her children was crowned king,_ she thought with disgust, _the saviour was cast aside._ How could this be called justice? Where were the Gods, when it happened? Did they decide to look away in shame? Why did they allow this to happen, and why did they allow her to play with the wildfire that was meant to destroy an entire city? _To destroy another._ The Gods were wicked, that much she knew – but now she knew they were vile as well, and cruel. The fate they designed for the mortals was such as them. His fate, her fate, the realm’s fate, none of that made sense, but she guessed it was the point.

She tentatively reached for Jaime’s good hand on the windowsill, between the two of them. He lowered his eyes when she placed her hand over his. He did not push her away like she did. He let her remain like this, and he let her place her fingers between his. She could not find the right words to tell him what she wanted to tell him because there were no such words. In the darkness of her room, in the silence that had fallen over them, they remained like this for a while, fingers intertwined in a gesture of intimacy none of them was used to. Everything they meant to add, to say, floated in the space between them.

 _I would have trusted you,_ she wanted to say, but it was not true. If she had not fallen into Baelish’s trap, if she had not been forced to marry Tywin Lannister and gradually let him flip the coin, she would not have listened to him. She would have remained as blind and deaf as her father before her. 

 _I trust you,_ was true. She did trust him, more than she thought possible. In the amount of unsaid things, silent promises and broken vows they shared, she had found who Jaime Lannister really was. He was no saint, he was a bad person and yet he was better than most – a sinner amongst sinners, one who could see her own sins and forgive her for things she never apologize for.

 _But can he trust me?_ She was hiding so many things from him. Many about her. One about him. She stared at their joined hands and she felt weak. He deserved to know. He deserved to be told the truth about the woman he loved – who was she to judge? By what right does a sinner judge another sinner?

 

“Jaime,” she whispered faintly. “I…

\- Do not ruin that. I collapsed right after telling the blond wench, let me keep my dignity this time.

\- It is not about that. I respect you, more than I can say.” She took a deep breath and held his hand tighter. “But I need to tell you something. About…”

 

She was cut short by the banging on her door. Startled, they both jumped on their feet, now separated by more than a few inches. Ser Donnel entered the room, upset enough not to notice what he had just stumbled upon. He bowed quickly and turned to Shara.

 

“My Lady, the scouts have returned.

\- Could it not wait the morning?

\- No, my Lady,” he replied hastily. “Petyr Baelish is stacking his men inside the Gates of the Moon. He plans to attack.”


	23. Holding together life and death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry I didn't post earlier and on time, but life is a little rough on me these days so I took an unexpected week-end off everything and didn't have my computer with me to update before, well, tonight. I spent a few days with my best friend in her new town and brought absolutely nothing with me, and I've just returned to go back to, well, my normal life.
> 
> Thank you very much for your comments and your concern, I am completely fine and this should not happen again. Enjoy this chapter!

“Nonesense! The Gates of the Moon are impregnable by force, a direct attack would be suicide!

\- Well Lord Royce, if you have a better idea by all means enlighten us!

\- I say we wait for them to attack. The Bloody Gate is easy to defend, even from the inside of the Vale.

\- Wait for them?” Lord Templeton choked. “We are not going to wait for the traitor’s army to march on us like cowards!

\- It is obviously braver to throw our men against the walls and see them all die like flies indeed!”

 

The very noble Lords and Ladies of the Vale, standing around the wide table of the great hall of the Bloody Gate, were screaming at each other, fighting over the decision of heading towards the Gates of the Moon to besiege it or remain within the Bloody Gate and wait. None of them realized that she had remained on her seat, her head rested against her closed fist. None of them realized that the decision was hers to take, and hers only. Jaime Lannister stood silently behind her armchair, tall and strong in his hastily put on armour. She did not need to look up to know what he looked like. _Sarcastic. Mocking._

Petyr Baelish had taken the strange decision to give up on the Bloody Gate to amass his men inside the Gates of the Moon and block her path to the Eyrie. Though the Gates of the Moon were easier to take than the Bloody Gate, it was still a heavy stronghold, way bigger than the Eyrie and probably filled to the brim with soldiers to defend it. Lord Royce was not wrong when he said attacking it directly would be suicide: there was no way to pass unnoticed and hope to surprise the castle with a full army.

She was fuming, of course, but she could not let anger get the best of her. She needed _to think_. The Gates of the Moon were not impregnable by force, but in the current situation she would lose more than half of her men if she threw them against the walls and defences of the stronghold without any way to undermine the soldiers’ loyalty. She slowly massaged the sides of her nose, trying not to burst out into screams against her bannermen.

She tried to imagine what Tywin would do in this situation. _He would probably slowly rise on his feet, and as he would the entire table would fall silent,_ she thought. He would barely need to raise his voice to be heard and heeded. She was not him, she was not nearly as impressive as he was, but somehow she had found that though they probably distrust her, they feared the idea of angering her. Whether it was because of the Lannister army waiting to take over the Vale at her order or because they had started to understand that what happened in the Twins and Duskendale were warnings, she decided she had to make the most of it.

So she did rise on her feet. Lady Anya Waynwood was the first to notice her. She kept her jaw clenched as she looked at every men arguing around the table. When they also realized she had risen, they gradually fell silent, not as fast as they would have if she had been her husband, but fast enough to satisfy her. She waited for complete silence to have returned before she spoke.

 

“What a ridiculous scene you are making,” she hissed. “Grown men bickering like kids arguing over a toy while Petyr Baelish plans his attack. Have I chosen the most childish of my bannermen as advisors? Is he the only one surrounded by reasonable adults?

\- We… We apologize, my Lady,” Lord Templeton mumbled, his eyes low. “We did not realize…

\- Just how ludicrous you sound? Well, now you know. Have the scouts found any information about Lord Nestor Royce?

\- None, my Lady. They were not able to say whether he lives or have been killed.

\- That has to be one of the Gods’ trial.” She shook her head and ran a hand across her face. “Or Baelish’s plan since the beginning.”

 

 _The foolish bird made sure we would be stuck inside the Bloody Gate,_ she mused bitterly. _Compelled to either move and destroy our army, or stay inside the stronghold and appear as weak._ She would still ask for Lannister men, but that would be an invasion of her own lands by foreign soldiers – exactly what Tywin warned her about. She closed her eyes and dug her nails inside the wooden table. The amount of anger and frustration she felt made her feel dizzy and she refrained from clutching at her belly. _Cursed bloody thing._

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down and regain composure. She heard Jaime’s plate amour clicking behind her and straightened her posture to stop him from doing anything. She was _fine,_ for as long as this problem was not settled. She opened her eyes again and stared at the map spread on the table. There was only one way to the Giant’s Lance, and it was through the Gates of the Moon, then passed all three waycastles probably filled with soldiers as well.

Shara was not stupid. She knew exactly how much time it would take to take all four of the castles, if each time Baelish lost a stronghold he sent every man he had to the next one. _Months, perhaps even a full year._ She could not wait months. It was a matter of weeks before she grew too weak to lead the army, and a matter of a few months before she had to return to King’s Landing. _And a matter of days before either Jaime or one of my Lords and Ladies understand what is happening to me._

Only mice could infiltrate all these strongholds and hope to reach the buckets or the rocky chimney that led to the Eyrie without being noticed. She was not even sure mice would be brave enough to climb the Giant’s Lance anyway, only the peasants and servants either strong enough to make the climb on foot or use the buckets.

 

“Maybe we should appeal to other houses,” Lady Waynwood offered carefully. “With more men, we might be able to take the Gates of the Moon.

\- Even if we do take the Gates, thousands of men will be of no use against Stone, Snow and Sky. The path is too narrow and treacherous to move a full army up the Giant’s Lance.” She kept on staring at the map. “Do we have any contact within the Gates of the Moon? Do we even know who is keeping it?

\- No, my Lady. I am not sure the soldiers stationed there truly know.”

 

She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to bang her fist against the table. It could not be the end of it – Baelish could not have won this. She could not have _lost_ this. She knew she could still turn the tables, all she needed was a way inside the Eyrie; Baelish could not have bought her bannermen’s loyalty at a high enough price for them to keep on denying her legitimacy while facing her. _A way inside the Eyrie, for me only. That should not be so complicated to reach my own castle, Seven Hells!_

How could it be that servants reached the Eyrie easier than she did, the liege of these lands? _The bloody wife a man who drowned two full houses in a castle?_ And cursed _nobodies_ were able to wander in her lands freer than she was! _There I am, envying servants and hoping I could…_

She froze and blinked. _Gods, that is the solution._ She just needed to become one of them. It was all appearance – they could not know every single peasant who climbed their way to the Eyrie to deliver their goods, she simply had to pretend to be one of them. She smirked. _They have no idea what I look like either._ Only Baelish did, and when he would recognized her… It would be too late to stop her. Intel on her disappearance from the Bloody Gate would not travel faster than she would, if she made sure to leave _before_ his agents could understand she had vanished.

 

“Go back to your chambers,” she ordered lowly. “All of you. We all need rest. Nothing we may decide tonight will change anything to the situation.

\- My Lady, are you certain you do not wish…

\- I am quite certain, Lord Redfort, thank you.” She turned to look at Jaime. “I wish to remain here for a few minutes before I return to my apartments. Would you please wait for me, Ser?

\- Certainly.”

 

He frowned, not fooled at all by her sudden decision to send everyone back to their rooms. He remained still while the Lords and Ladies left the hall, bending and curtsying before Shara and ensuring her of their unwavering support and loyalty. _I wonder if your support and loyalty would remain unwavering if we had to stay inside the Bloody Gate for months and months,_ she thought while smiling politely. She looked at the door when it closed behind Lord Royce and took a deep breath. She ran a hand across her face again and gestured Jaime to follow her.

She opened one of the many doors that led outside, but not to the main corridor. She had spotted this alternative way to the bedrooms when they first entered the Bloody Gate – she got lost in these small and dimly lit corridors. She remembered the doors she had opened to eventually find a series of stairs that led to the very end of the very long corridor that led to the biggest and most comfortable apartments of the stronghold. They discreetly returned to her room without being spotted by the other Lords and Ladies.

 

“What was that for? If you wanted to return to your room, you could have…

\- That was not the point. I did not want them to see us,” she interrupted him while pulling the string that called Maester Rubben. “I have a plan.

\- And this plan involves lying to your bannermen?

\- For their good as well as mine.”

 

She eyed him and carefully closed the curtains so that no one could see what was happening inside the room. Jaime Lannister was watching her, visibly unable to understand what she was doing. The room immediately next to hers was his, so there was no risk to be overheard. Littlefinger probably already had agents within the castle, but given that the meeting was mostly impromptu, most servants were still sleeping, oblivious to what was going on.

 

“I do not know why exactly, but I am quite certain I am not going to like your plan.

\- That is likely, but I need you,” she retorted, stopping to face him. “Even if you do not like it, believe me you will want to come.

\- _Great._ ” He groaned, frustrated. “I really should not have told you what you did in front of the Gate was impressive.

\- Stop talking this loud.”

 

She frowned, and rushed to the door when she heard knockings. She quickly ushered Maester Rubben inside the room and told him to keep quiet. He looked at Jaime, saluted him politely and remained next to him, in the middle of the room. She locked the door and returned in front of them both. The Maester was eying her from hair to toes, searching for a reason why he had been awakened in the middle of the night. She stared at him, slightly frowned, and he looked away from her belly. Jaime seemed not have noticed his insistence. _Thank the Gods._

 

“Maester Rubben, do you have anything that could colour hair?

\- Colour…” He blinked, dumbfounded. “My Lady, did you really wake me up to _colour your hair?_

\- Answer my question, maester.

\- I suppose I have some things that could turn your hair black, or brown.

\- I am really starting to think you are going mad, Sha… Lady Shara,” Jaime intervened. “What is the point of this scene?

\- I need my hair coloured because I need to be able to pass through the Gates of the Moon, Stone, Snow and Sky and reach the Eyrie.” She tilted her head. “And I must pass unnoticed.”

 

There was a silence, dazed and heavy. Jaime looked at Maester Rubben, at her, at Maester Rubben and cursed under his breath while rubbing his beard. She crossed her arms over her chest and kept still as he started to pace the room back and forth. _That was expected, I suppose,_ she mused. There was no way he could approve of this kind of plan. She waited patiently for the two men to have processed the information and sat on the edge of her bed. They had all night – and it was not just a figure of speech. She was in no hurry. She simply needed to depart without anyone noticing.

 _Do not scream,_ she silently ordered Jaime when he stared right at her, his eyes dark with frustration and annoyance. _Say what you will, but do not scream._ He sighed furiously and turned to the maester who dared not utter a word. But she could see the same disapproval in his eyes. _You cannot do that,_ he meant to say. _Not in your state._ Cursed be her state. It would only worsen if she waited.

 

“You are not really… Trying to say… That you are going to disguise as a peasant to be able to reach the Eyrie, are you?” She was going to reply when he waived her off. “Do not answer that. Of course you are.

\- With all due respect, my Lady,” Maester Rubben softly said. “And if I may, this is not a good idea. You cannot just leave the Bloody Gate without your escort.

\- Why not? I am more recognizable when I am surrounded by thousand men than I am alone.” She shrugged. “Whoever holds the Gates of the Moon who is not Nestor Royce has no idea what I look like. With my hair coloured and fitting clothes, I may pass as a peasant.

 _\- Please,_ you? A peasant? You practically wear a crown on your head all day long. A single word and they will instantly understand how highborn you are.”

 

She frowned and looked daggers at Jaime. He was not wrong – _he was right,_ really, but she did not have much choice, did she? It was either that, or she could bury any hope to oust Baelish and regain control over her own lands. If she let someone else do it for her… _There is no way the whole thing will not go downhill very fast._ She needed to be seen, needed to be heard – needed to do it herself. She took a deep breath and ordered herself to remain as calm as possible. She could ask someone else to accompany her, but she did not trust any of her soldiers as much as she trusted Jaime. _At least I know he would not let me die,_ she thought. _If only to spare himself the hassle he would have to endure from Tywin._

She turned to Maester Rubben and asked him to go fetch whatever he needed to turn her hair black, as well as Jaime’s. She gestured him to remain quiet, and when she found herself alone with Jaime again, she patted the bed next to her for him to sit. He grumbled, hesitated, ranted, but eventually did sit nearby. She turned to look at him and pretended she did see his scowl.

 

“I do not have the choice, Jaime. I have to reach the Eyrie, and I cannot wait for months.

\- Just ask for reinforcement, then,” he retorted. “You could have twice the number of men you have now if you _only asked._

\- I cannot use Lannister man to take the Eyrie, and you know exactly why.

\- The only place you are going to with that plan is an early grave.” He sighed, shook his had and rubbed his beard. “Can you even imagine how he is going to react?

\- Believe me, if I do die because of this, Tywin Lannister’s opinion is certainly going to be the last of my concerns,” she japed. He frowned even further. She lost her smile. “I will not return to King’s Landing if I am not victorious. This is my only chance.

\- You…” He closed his eyes and she saw his shoulders slump. “You are a wicked woman with a wicked sense of duty. You are really going to us to killed.”

 

She scoffed, unable to suppress the chuckle. He tried to keep his calm but eventually could not help smiling as well. The plan was terrible, even she knew – but how much time since he actually did something so terribly stupid and dangerous? She could see a gleam of excitement in his eye, barely concealed by a veneer of disapproval. _Tywin Lannister will kill us when he knows,_ she thought. Oh, he would not. She was not just going to return with the Vale in her hands – she would return with her side of the agreement as well. She could endure the Lannister storm.

Maester Rubben quickly returned and asked her to follow him behind the wooden screen, where her dressing table was. _Find us some clothes in the servants’ quarters,_ she asked Jaime while she followed him. He was carrying hot water and some sort of a block of a dark material. He crumbled it in a small amount of water and it turned into a lumpy, black paste. She patiently waited for him to be done, untying her braids until he said he was done. She turned her back on him when he asked her to.

The paste smelled strange, like seaweed and rust, and she regretted she did not look at herself in the mirror one last time before he started applying it on her hair. She kept quiet while he tried to make himself gentle, but winced each time he pulled a strand of hair a bit too harshly. _This man has never touched woman’s hair before,_ she mused painfully. She did not dare complain – she knew he was going to blame her for her recklessness at some point and she did not want to hear him.

 

“You need to tell Ser Lannister about your state,” he eventually said as he twisted her hair in a bun. “If anything should happen to you, he should at least know…

\- Do you really think he will let me go if I tell him?

\- I would not blame him if he stopped you.” She saw his frown in the nearby mirror. He was washing his hands. “What you are doing is beyond reckless. If Lord Baelish does not kill you first, you are going to put yourself and your child in such a danger that…

\- I am not stupid. I know exactly what I am doing.

\- Your husband does not, does he?”

 

She clenched her jaw and turned to face him. She _hated_ the idea of someone using Tywin’s power over her as leverage, especially him. Once gone there was no way she could make sure he would keep his mouth shut until she was done with Littlefinger. If he did send any letter to King’s Landing, it would surely arrive before she reached the Eyrie, and she had little doubt Tywin would send at least half of his host to take her back to the Red Keep. _Oh he would,_ she thought bitterly. With little regard to what she may think of it.

However she looked at it, he had an immense power over her simply by being her husband. His decisions were law, and she could only abide by them or someone would make her. Her power, or what she considered to be her power, only existed as long as he kept quiet. It was infuriating – it was painful to accept. For as long as he ignored her true state, she was free to do what needed to be done, though, and she wanted it to remain that way until _she_ decided to give back her leash to her husband.

 

“My Lord husband has enough power over me,” she hissed. “Not to give him any more leverages. All I need is a few days, perhaps a week, and I will head back to the Red Keep.

\- Days of climbing the Giant’s Lance and trying to pass unnoticed amongst people who want you dead. Your mother…

\- Enough!” She almost shouted. “That is quite enough, Maester. You will not speak of my husband, or my mother, or myself again, or by the Gods I swear I will make you stop. I am the liege of these lands and you have no right to lecture me.

\- Liege or not, my Lady, you are putting your life at risk.

\- The amount of risk I am willing to take is not something I am willing to discuss.”

 

The conversation was cut short by Jaime’s return with a pile of clothes. He did not seem to realize the tension in the room and went on complaining that he would not _survive_ in this kind of clothes and that _she_ would very obviously hate them. She rose from her seat and left Maester Rubben who looked daggers at her as long as he could. She headed for the clothes and refrained from wincing. They were rough – of course they were. At least they seemed to be warm and they would hide most of their figure. The capes he added would hide most of their face as well.

She raised her eyes to thank him for the effort and caught Jaime staring at her. Staring at _her hair_ , mostly. He was not smiling, not smirking, he was just staring. She waited for a few seconds, hoping he would eventually come to his sense, but she had to clear her throat for him to shrug off his daze.

 

“Close your mouth, Ser Lannister,” she scoffed. “You look like a squire who just came across his first naked woman.

\- Spare my imagination, Shara, I have no intention to picture…” He seemed to remember there was _a Maester_ in the room. “Anyway. It is just… Very strange to see you with hair so dark.

\- And you have not seen it washed. When will I be able to get rid of your paste, Maester?

\- When I am done with Ser Lannister’s hair, my Lady.”

 

She gestured him to go behind the screen and sat on the bed, next to the piles of clothes. It was slowly sinking in, the scheme she had fomented. The Maester’s harsh words were as well. _I do not have a choice,_ she repeated. _I have no other way to reach the Eyrie and end this rebellion._ No other way to do it herself and return to King’s Landing crowned with glory, power and respect – and she had to, if only to be seen as Tywin Lannister’s equal, and not just his dutiful and meek wife. She had hit hard with Duskendale, and she would hit just as hard in the Eyrie.

But as she brushed the fabrics of the clothes thoughtfully, she could not help letting her mind wander. There was something her honourable, duty-bound father always said when she complained that _she had to something_ because _she_ _had no other choice._ It was a strange thing to remember that only now, but he used to say that when she was very young, barely old enough to remember his words. She closed her eyes, caught in the memory – it happened in the great room he used as his strategy room, with the great table in the middle and the map covered with pawns. It was in the earliest days of the rebellion, just after Rhaegar Targaryen abducted Lady Lyanna. _Ned Stark was there,_ she remembered. _And Robert Baratheon too._

She was eavesdropping behind the great wooden door, trying to understand why so many men were talking in there for so long. She had escaped her maid, who absolutely wanted to teach her how to embroider – the initial reason was that she wanted to read the big book her heraldry teacher had given her. She had come across the group of men on her way to her bedroom, so she stopped there.

Of course her father realized there was someone behind the door, and he opened it wide. He took her aside to berate her, tell her it was very unladylike to spy on such a serious meeting. _I was not!_ It was even _less_ ladylike to lie to her father. _I was heading for my room, I simply stopped for a few seconds._ But why was she not with her maid? She was supposed to be learning embroidery. _I could not attend the class._ Why so? _I had to read the big book, and I had no other moment to read it today. I had no other choice._

Her father then knelt in front of her, frowning but softened as he used to be when he was younger, and put his two hands on her small shoulders. _We always have the choice_ , he said. _We just have to make the right one._ When you pretend you do not have the choice, it just means you refused to consider the alternative.

She gulped, painfully. She had been shrugging off memories of her father ever since they left King’s Landing, because she knew how painful they were. This one hit hard. How many times had she told herself _she had no other choice?_ Oh, she knew how ashamed her father would be, if he were alive. She was coming to peace with this idea – after all, it was something she would have to live with. The coin had been flipped. No matter how much time she spent loathing herself, there was nothing she could do about that. Jaime told her that much.

She could not hide in a deserted Sept, this time, and wait for him to come and reassure her. _She had no other choice_ but to go on and end what she begun. _And I can only hope that my only choice is the right one._ If not… She would not be the one to suffer the consequences, after all.


	24. Look like the innocent flower...

They left at daybreak, as the very first rays of light peered through the thick clouds that overcast the sky. She barely waited for her hair to have dried and did not even had the time to look at herself and see what she looked like. She just put on the servants’ clothes and her cape’s hood to hide her face and followed Jaime outside the stronghold through the several backdoors and corridors. It was both too early in the day and too late in the night for them to cross path with anyone – the groom in the stables had fallen asleep and did not even hear Jaime when he chose two of the rougher horses. _We cannot roam the Vale with fast and beautiful horses,_ he explained. _No peasant has mounts like ours._ He fastened the two crates of Wickenden’s candles she had retrieved from her own chests to his horse and took the two horses away from the stables.

She accepted his help to ride hers and they left as discreetly as possible, toward the Vale proper where no one knew them. They told no one, except for the maester of course, but she left a note under Lord Royce’s door. She did not exactly trust him, but she knew that he was the only one who had the authority to lead the army if need came to be. She delegated her powers to him, _in case something happens to me._ She could not be certain he would respect her intentions, but she asked him to remain in the Bloody Gate for as long as she was missing and to _never_ leave the stronghold undefended. _If I do not return, or if you hear of my demise, I ask you to wait for the king’s men to come before risking our soldiers’ lives._

And, obviously, she ordered him to keep quiet about this note, and to never let anyone, under any circumstances, reveal that she had disappeared. _My mission relies on your ability to keep this information secret,_ she had written. _As well as my survival._ As they rode north towards the Gates of the Moon, she wondered if the man would be able to, indeed, keep it all quiet. If he did not, there was a chance they would reach the Gates _before_ whatever spy could escape the Bloody Gate, but if he arrived while they were inside the castle there was very little chance he would not add two and two and recognize them for who they really were. _Put everyone in cells and wait for me to return,_ she mused. They could be in the Eyrie in a week, if everything went correctly. If a man like him could not keep a castle closed for a week, then maybe she would need to reconsider his lordship.

She was lost in her thoughts when she heard Jaime clearing his throat next to her. She turned her head and looked back at him. He was still staring at the strands of black hair that escaped from her hood and the simple braid she had made. She frowned and looked away at the path they were riding.

 

“If you keep staring at my hair we are as good as dead,” she chastised him. “Am I staring at yours?

\- You would be staring at yourself if you had seen what you look like.” He shrugged. “And you could. It does look awful.

\- It looks _different_ , not awful. You looked awful when you returned from the Riverlands.

\- Lest you forget, I was a prisoner of war. You are the only prisoner who looked just the same after spending days in a cell.

\- That is because your father did not want a maimed wife.” She could not help smiling. “Do I look this awful, then?

\- Not awful. Just… Not like you.”

 

She raised an eyebrow and darted a look at him. He did look different, and black hair did not suit him half as good as gold. The harshness of the colour made his green eyes stand out even more than usual, and it emphasized the small wrinkles around his eyelids and brows. He looked older, and he looked somehow wiser and less brash than he usually did. She could not tell if it suited him or not – it was just a strange sight. Maester Rubben had told them to keep their hair away from too much water for as long as they needed it to look intact. _It is not going to resist a full washing,_ he explained. _And it is not going to resist a rain shower either._ It was a good thing that the only form of water they would encounter was snow, after all.

 

“Speaking of you,” he continued before she could. “You should pretend to be mute.

\- Mute?

\- Yes, _mute._ I have spent time with peasants and commoners, I know how to sound like them. You do not.” She frowned again but did not deny. _He is right._ “And we need a convincing story. Are we Vale people?

\- I am, but you are not. You may be able to mimic a commoner’s accent, but certainly not a Valeman’s.

\- Why are we carrying candles from Wickenden?

\- As a gift from our Lord Waxley to the Lord Regent Petyr Baelish.” She had already thought this through. “As a peace offering and a wedding gift.

\- And what are we?”

 

She kept on staring at the lushness of the Vale in front of her. Despite the lack of sun, the scenery was truly as stunning now as it was during the evening and she could not quite get used to it. _What are we, indeed,_ she repeated mentally. Jaime seemed to think she had not heard him, or decided _not_ to hear him since he scoffed and looked away as well. She let silence linger a bit between them before she decided to answer.

 

“Whatever you want. Either brother and sister or husband and wife.

\- Pretending you are my wife is a better way to deter any woman-deprived soldier from pestering you,” he noted. “If you are comfortable with that.

\- You are just another imposed Lannister husband. At least you asked my permission.

\- You did say yes to my father. Theoretically, he asked your permission.

\- Oh that he did,” she scoffed as well. “He asked my permission to marry him _or_ lose my head on a chopping block. How very gracious of him.”

 

He darkened and fell silent again. That surely could not sound too agreeable to the ear, but that was the truth. The fact that she settled quite comfortably in that situation did not change the way it began. She decided to end this conversation on this silent and focused on their path. She could not pretend she was not _at least_ a bit worried by the amount of horse riding involved in her plan. She had heard stories, of course, about women who miscarried after riding horses during their pregnancy, and though she could not know exactly where exactly she stood in the nine months, some of them lost their child in early stages. She did not consider herself in the _early stages._ If Jaime Lannister had been more observant, he would have noticed that clothes that usually fit her were tight around the waist.

 _But he is not, and it is for the best._ Their horses were not made for daylong gallop, so they alternated between trot and gentle gallop. They needed to be at the Gates as soon as possible, so they decided not to take any pause. They were going to leave the horses there anyway, and _borrow_ ones used to the Giant’s Lance climbing. Secretly, though, she hoped to find Nestor Royce alive and able to help them – but she also knew that if, indeed, he were still alive, he would probably be stuck in a cell waiting for Baelish to condemn him to either exile, death and imprisonment. Prisoners make poor allies, she had come to understand, and she was not sure how to find other allies once inside the Gates of the Moon.

Royce’s men were probably still around, but how could she possibly know which ones could be trusted? He most likely shared his cell with his most trusted men anyway, and common soldiers have very little loyalty when it comes to saving their lives. _I cannot blame them,_ she mused bitterly. _I hardly had any when I saved my own._

They saw the sun rising and declining before they arrived in sight of the formidable Gates. They walked past fields of pumpkins and fruits, beautiful pastures and orchards, crossed bridges built across small rivers that descended from the nearby mountains. There were very few villages inside this portion of Vale, because it was so small that people usually lived in the middle of their lands and only reunited in one farm or the other to sell their goods one or two days per week. The actual villages were made of barely five buildings; an inn, houses for those who worked in the village and a marketplace. There was only one actual sept on the way to the Gates of the Moon.

Where the valley grew bigger, south and north of the path, there were of course seats of noble families – Redfort, Ironoaks and Old Anchor being the most important. Longbow’s Hall was far north, at the very edge of the Vale where the mountains met the sea. They were not going to see any of them, obviously. She had not seen most of them herself – she was not entirely sure her father had. _A shame,_ she thought, _for someone who was so proud of his position._

It was almost nighttime when they reached the castle, and the little light that remained came did not came from the clouded moon but from the castle’s walls themselves. They stopped a few minutes away to gather their thoughts and try to pretend not to be completely exhausted by their long day of riding. She did her best to conceal her weariness and pain and turned to Jaime who was trying to stretch his back.

 

“Are you alright?

\- No, I am not,” he groaned. “But I will survive. What is the plan?

\- We get inside. We pretend to be weary travellers…

\- That we are.

\- Who need shelter for the night and food in the morrow before they continue their journey to the Eyrie with gifts for Lord Baelish.” She winced when she tried to stretch her neck. “The courier who was supposed to deliver the news of Lord Waxley’s allegiance got killed by wildlings on his way to the Bloody Gate.

\- How do we explain that we went past the Bloody Gate?

\- We arrived before the armies. Lord Corbray let us in and we barely heard about the attack.”

 

 _Baelish would never believe that, but it is not Baelish we are going to talk to._ She adjusted her hood and made sure to hide her hair from the drizzle that had started to fall. Jaime ran a hand on his shaved jaw. He eyed the stronghold and nodded slowly. They had not talked a lot on their way, mostly because they both grew too tired to really talk, and partly because they were both lost in their thoughts. Cersei’s situation had returned more than once in her line of thoughts. Once in the Eyrie, she would have to tell him. _He is going to hate me for that._ But she owed him that much, did she not? _And it is not even my fault._ Not entirely anyway. Tywin took the decision, not her. She just… Inspired it. And asked for it. Heavily. _Seven Hells._

But she had no idea what was on his mind. It was not so long since he told her the truth about the Sack of King’s Landing, barely a full day. She hardly had had the time to process the full weight of it, so she could only imagine how it felt to remember it all and not have the time to put it aside. She did not mention it again, obviously. It was the kind of secret one never mentioned again in the open.

 

“Given that I am not to hear your voice again today,” he continued. “Surely you have some last order?

\- Try to find out where Lord Royce is. If he is still inside the castle… I will try to find him. He may be able to help us.

\- From inside his cell?

\- We need all the help we can get. Just ask the right questions.” He scoffed and shook his head. “I believe you accepted to come, did you not? I am trying to make it easier for us.

\- You did not exactly _ask_ , Shara. I will do my best.”

 

 _Let us hope your best will be enough, then._ She nodded and they headed towards the castle. As soon as they arrived in sight of the guards, she looked down and let Jaime take the lead. He was right – she had no idea how common folks behaved, talked and even _lived_. All she could do was lay low and hope for everyone to look at him rather than her. He went for one of the soldier who stood in front of the great gate and asked for passage. She had to bite her lips not to scoff. Hearing _Jaime Lannister_ speak with a peasant accent was not something she ever imagined she would live to witness. And yet she did, and it was convincing enough given that the man let them in, asking them to report to the chief guard so that he knew travellers were within the stronghold. _We’re never too careful, aye? There’s a bloody army on the other side of the valley._

She darted quick look around them as they entered the inner court of the castle. She had lived there, during the first years of her life – before and after the Year of the False Spring and up until the rebellion began. There was still a lot of snow on the Giant’s Lance when her father ordered their return to the Eyrie, but he felt that they were safer at the top of the mountain than they were at its base. She had had a room inside this stronghold, but she could not remember where exactly. She remembered watching the mountains from her window, so it must have been on the northern side of the castle.

She accepted Jaime’s help to ride down her horse and followed him straight to the barracks where the chief guard was supposed to be. She kept her hood on, her head down, and barely saw anything except for him in front of her. She hated the thought, but she knew she was being stared at. These men had probably not seen a woman for weeks, if not months. _What a dangerous thing it is, these days,_ she mused bitterly, _to be a woman in a man’s world._

They entered the tower and stopped in front of what was probably supposed to be a desk. A burly man was sitting behind it and barely looked up when he saw them. She remained behind Jaime but eyed him. She did not know him, but he was probably just some zealous soldier named chief guard because the former tenant got arrested with Nestor Royce. At least he did not look vindictive.

 

“Yeah?

\- We’ve been asked by your fellow at the gate to come see you,” Jaime replied, more assured in voice than in behaviour. _Good thing he is not looking._ “So that you know we’re inside the castle.

\- Who are you?

\- We’re at the Lord Waxley’s service, and we’re bringing gifts for the Lord Regent.

\- Yeah, right, but your names? I’m supposed to write it on this book, see?

\- Of course, well, we’re…” There was a pause. _Seven Hells, we did not speak about that._ “I’m Johann, and she is my wife, Cerella.”

 

She, obviously, said nothing and remained shadowed. The man grabbed an old quill and clumsily wrote the names on his register. He started to mumble something about a compensation for their stay, something the Lord of the Gates demanded. She nudged Jaime and gestured him to give him something. They had taken a purse of coins, in case they needed to buy their stay or buy their way out of the stronghold. He gave the man a few of them. He mumbled again, but with satisfaction. _This money is not going into whoever rules this place’s pocket, that is for sure._

 

“You’re not from here, ain’t you?

\- I’m not, but Cerella is.

\- And she’s got no tongue?

\- I’m sorry, sir,” he meekly said. “She’s a mute. Never could speak.

\- At least she’s not bothering you with her blabbering.” The man shrugged and scoffed as if he had just made the best joke. “Y’know how women are!

\- She’s… Quiet, yes.”

 

She almost rolled her eyes. This was _not_ going to convince the soldiers that they were indeed married, and that they were indeed just common servants of a Lord who could not come. She elbowed him again discreetly and frowned when he glanced at her. He did not seem to get the innuendo so she gestured at the chief guard who was completing his register. He looked confused for a time and seemed to suddenly understand. He looked apologetic for a second and cleared his throat. _Gods, can he look more ridiculous than that or is this his best?_

 

“Word of advice, keep an eye on your little wife. Y’know, soldiers can’t keep their hands to themselves.

\- Ha, that’s ‘cause they don’t know the woman,” he scoffed with a raucous laughter. “She’s quiet, yes, but she’s still like the rest of her kind. You get lured by the pretty face and before you know you’re trapped and there ain’t nothing you can do about it.

\- Ain’t that our common lot?” He looked sympathetic and jeering. “In any case, welcome in the Gates of the Moon. The bitch’s army on the other side of the valley makes everyone jumpy, but at least you’re safe.”

 

She did not react. She had prepared herself to hear this kind of slurs on her way to the Eyrie. Jaime did not seem to have reacted either. She knew she had been called worse things than _bitch_ , and she had heard his sister calling her a _whore_ before. It simply proved what she already knew – this kind of men had loyalty only to those who offered the greatest chance of survival. _Or the most money._ She remained quiet and hoped he would know how to lead the conversation to the places she wanted him to.

 

“We heard ‘bout that, yes. Managed to walk past the Bloody Gate before she arrived. What’s going on?

\- You’ll ask her if you see her,” he shrugged. “All I know is that the Lord Regent fears she might burn the entire place down, like they did in Duskendale.

\- They?

\- The Lannisters. Where you’ve been for the last six months? Burned the place to the ground. Some call that the Fires of Duskendale, like the Rains of Castamere y’know?” He looked mostly unconcerned by the question, but rather inclined to have a chat with a stranger. _Our luck._ “Well, our Lord says she whispered the idea in Tywin Lannister’s ear.

\- Tywin Lannister? The man wouldn’t listen to his wife. She’s not his prisoner?

\- That’s the trick, mate. Somehow she managed to bewitch him and now she’s got him wrapped ‘round her finger.”

 

He laughed as if the sheer thought of it was laughable. Jaime followed, but she heard the disbelief in his laughter. Did Baelish spread the rumour? It was a strange rumour to spread – the rest of the Vale was convinced it was _Tywin_ who was invading the Vale, why prove them wrong by revealing how independent she had grown? _To discredit Tywin himself,_ she thought. But why? If the Vale was all he wanted, _she_ was the one to discredit.

 _Unless he wants more._ She never thought about it, but he might very well want everything, and not just bits. Maybe the Vale was just the first rung of a very long ladder he hoped to escalate, one rung after the other, up until the very last one. It probably should have surprised her, but it did not. It was Littlefinger after all – who could be surprised that he was going after the iron throne? Going _against_ Tywin Lannister, however, was a whole other thing and that was more surprising coming from a glorified coward like him.

She could not help wondering what the next step was. Seizing control of the Riverlands? Not that there was much to seize control of anyway. But he would block the path to the North if he managed to gather enough men, and given that he knew the ins and outs of the Stark plan, he could very well manage to convince Sansa Stark _and_ her bannermen that it was all a plot to keep the North under Lannister control through the Boltons. _And it would war again._ A brilliant plan, she had to admit. The kind she would have been proud to foment and put in place, if she had had a king to support. _Sadly I only have the current one._

 

“Speaking of your Lord,” Jaime said, interrupting her trails of thought. “Last time we were here, it was Lord Royce. I don’t s’pose he’s still in place?

\- Nay, ‘course he’s not. He’s been replaced by Lord Darick Falker.” She frowned, visibly enough for the chief guard to notice. “Ah the little lady is confused! Our Lord is a new one, see? The Lord Regent has given him the Gates of the Moon as his new house’s seat after he deposed Royce.

\- Why was he deposed?

\- ‘Cause he’s loyal to the blond bitch, that’s why. Tried to sneak out letters for her, call for help from the Lords-Whatever, couldn’t be trusted.” He shrugged, regretful and yet again absolutely unconcerned. “He was a good guy, but a great man knows when to turn his loyalty to the winning side.”

 

She almost chuckled. Oh, irony was everywhere, with enough hindsight. Jaime nodded and turned to her. He darted her a glance and she discreetly gestured him to prod deeper. They _needed_ to know if he was still alive, and where he was exactly. To justify his movement, he gestured her back to come closer and awkwardly put a hand on her waist to keep her close. Too close for her liking, at first, but she let him. Now that she was more visible, she felt the chief guard’s eyes on her and refrained from wincing when she saw his disgusting and toothless grin. _Gods._ Jaime seemed to notice it as well and instantly spoke again.

 

“You’re one of the great men, I can tell,” he declared with a smile. “’Tis sad that he couldn’t see his own interest.

\- That’s for sure. He’s got plenty of time to think ‘bout it, though, and he’s not changing his mind.

\- What do you mean?

\- The Lord Regent has no time to deal with him now, so he just had him thrown in a cell here, in the Gates.” The chief guard looked at his register once more and smiled wide. “But look at us, speaking like old ladies with time to lose. We’re good on my books. We’ll see each other tomorrow, aye?

\- Won’t miss it.”

 

 _That is for sure, my good man,_ she thought. _We will not miss it._ She followed Jaime outside the tower and exchanged a glance with him. They were supposed to go to sleep inside an unoccupied barrack, so they headed straight toward it. They were not going to sleep a lot tonight, though – they had a prisoner to seek.


	25. ... But be the serpent underneath

They waited for most of the guards to have left the inner court to either go to sleep or go to eat to sneak inside the castle proper. She did not _exactly_ remember where the stairs that led down to the cells were, but she remembered where they were not – she knew where the actual dwellings were. They were on the northern side of the castle, the one closest to the Eyrie, of course, while the kitchens, the servants’ quarters, the barracks and the rest of the utilities were on the southern side, the side of the valley. _As far as possible from the Lords and Ladies’ eyes._ And ears, and nose.

So while she did not know where the stairs were, she knew where to look. Jaime and her kept as quiet as possible while they searched for flight of steps that would lead down to the gaols. Dressed as they were, they mostly blended with the rest of the servants who roamed the place. The Gates of the Moon were a big castle, not nearly as big as the rest of the Seven Kingdoms’ castle of course, but it was still big enough to be able to pretend to be one of the servants without them noticing.

All it took was confidence. They made sure to never turn back and to only go forward – closer and closer to the chief guard’s office. They walked slower and slower as they started to hear the soldiers’ voices. They exchanged a glance. It was careless, what they were doing. By all accounts they were risking both their covers and their lives, but they _needed_ to reach these cells. She needed Nestor Royce’s cell to reach the Eyrie and survive. She could not just hope that soldiers in the Eyrie would recognize her and protect her out of sheer loyalty and goodness of heart – that was not going to happen. She needed him to tell who she could trust inside the Gates so that she could ask them to take her to the Eyrie. Freeing him was not possible anyway – he would have to wait.

At one point they arrived in front of an iron gate closed, but not locked. Jaime gestured her not to move and darted a look behind it. He nodded. She took a deep breath. _Thank the Gods._ She was going to head for the door when she heard noises nearby, voices and laughter. She froze and hushed him to walk away. He did, just in time for a group of soldiers to walk past them both without really noticing them. She closed her times once they were gone.

 

“We need to go down before they return,” she whispered. “Seven hells, we are in the middle of the barracks.

\- We have no idea whether the cells are guarded or not, we cannot just waltz down and hope for the best. Have you lost your mind?

\- I do not think we have much of a choice, do we?

\- We do have a choice: not doing stupid things on a daily basis.”

 

He frowned and shook his head, eyes lost in the space in front of him. She gritted her teeth and looked away. There was nothing in the room they were in – it was probably more of a large corridor than an actual room with an actual function. There were old curtains on the windows, the kind that was so completely saturated with dust that it was greyer than whatever colour they were supposed to be, and that was all.

Jaime’s eyes fell on one of them, on the gate he left ajar, then on her and his eyes suddenly lighted. She raised an eyebrow as he started to chuckle under his breath. _What terrible idea has he invented?_

 

“I am going. You hide behind one of these curtains.

\- What? Why?

\- I am going to pretend, like the desperate husband I am, that you disappeared. I may be able to convince whoever is keeping the cells to help me find you.” He eyed her. “So do _not_ let us find you.

\- Surely you must be joking,” she scoffed. “You cannot be seriously saying that this idea is better than mine?

\- I am, actually. And I am not asking your permission, _your highness._ Go hide before I return.”

 

She tried to prevent him from dashing across the room, straight to the gate, but she was not fast enough. She heard him hurtle down the stairs and heard him basically _screaming_ that his wife had disappeared. She stood still for a few seconds, dumbfounded by the entire situation. _This is… Ridiculous._ It could not work. He was going to get them killed, how could he even believe he could convince a gaoler of something so grossly stupid?

 _How can he even think he can have me hide behind one of these… Things?_ She looked around, trying to find another place to hide, but the room was completely empty indeed. She did not move for a while, until she heard both Jaime’s voice and the soldiers’ getting nearer. _Cursed be this man,_ she hissed mentally as she rushed to the least grey of the curtain to hide behind it.

She cursed him even more when she tried to breath. Behind the thick fabric, the air tasted like mildew, dust and rot and every breath she took made both her nose and her throat itchier. She pressed her hand against her mouth not to cough and gag as she tried to listen to what was going on inside the room. She heard Jaime again, talking with someone and basically repeating how worried he was on a loop. She heard someone groaning back. _She can’t be that far, your wife, we’re gonna find her somewhere._ The soldiers arrived, asked what was going on.

She bit her lips so hard she tasted her own blood, but it was what it took not to sneeze. _Go away, Gods be good, go away…_ She tried to dart a look but moving the curtain made it even worse. She clung unto the fabric and closed her eyes. They all moved toward the door, the soldiers seemingly more amused by the situation than seriously touched by Jaime’s faked despair. The gaoler seemed to be willing to return to his post, but _you have to help me, she’s mute you see? If I can’t find her she can’t find help!_

Step, step, step, a door closing, silence again. She waited for a few more seconds and pushed away the curtains, still biting her lips not to sneeze and attract attention. _I will get him for that,_ she thought as she rushed to the gate and rushed down the stairs. She had no time to lose, especially not the time to brush off the dust on her face, hair and shoulders. Once down the stairs, she stopped near the entrance and made sure no one was there. The gaoler’s office was empty. _At least his blabbering worked._

She stepped in the corridor, flanked by cells on both sides. Most of them were empty, of course, but there were men in some of them. Some were sleeping, but some looked at her while she tried to find Nestor Royce amongst them. She had no idea how she would recognize him in the surrounding darkness – nothing looked more like a man than another one. She progressed deeper into the corridor and, after a while, realized all cells were empty. She turned away, thinking that obviously he was closer to the entrance, when she heard a voice behind her.

 

“Hey,” a raspy voice echoed. “If you’re bringing food, I want some.

\- ...” She remembered she was supposed to be mute and quieted. “…

\- You’re not bringing any food, are you?” A low chuckle. “Ha, so the Lord Regent just wants me to starve me to death. He can’t even kill me properly.

\- Kill you?” she made a few steps toward the voice. “Why would he…

\- You’re new here, aren’t you?”

 

She grabbed a torch and headed toward a lone cell, at the corner of the corridor. A man stood there, massive and tall, holding the bars of his cell as if he could push them apart and step out of his prison. He was bald, but wore a thick and greying beard. _Gods,_ she realized. _It is him._ She put the torch on the nearby stand and got closer so that he could see her. Obviously he did not recognize her – she probably would not have been able to recognize herself either. He just narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

 

“If you don’t have food, I’ve nothing to tell you lass.

\- Lord Royce?” she whispered. “Is that you?

\- Of course it’s me, who else… Wait,” he frowned even further. “Who are you?

\- My Lord, please, keep quiet. I need to be discreet.

\- You can’t…” His eyes opened wider and he made a step back. “You cannot be… Or can you?

\- I am sorry you are here because of me.”

 

He tried to speak, once, twice, and suddenly started to laugh. She gestured him to calm down and he did, but he shook his head and ran a hand across her face, through his beard. How much time had he spent in there? He looked skinnier than she remembered, and exhausted as well. She made a step towards the bar to cross the distance between them and whispered him to come closer. He did, carefully, and they both knelt to hide from the other prisoners’ eyes. _Just because they are locked in there does not mean they are friends._ She was not even sure she had any friend within these walls.

 

“What are you doing here?” he whispered. “I did not even know you were in the Vale!

\- Which means you have been a prisoner for far too long already. I feared you might be dead.

\- Well, as good as, my Lady.” He sounded bitter. _Of course he does._ “Have you managed to take the Vale back?

\- Most of it. Have you heard about the Lords Declarant?

\- Yes, of course. They support you?” She nodded. His shoulders slumped. “That is good, good news at last. But what about your husband?

\- We do not have time for this kind of conversation. I need…”

 

She looked behind her shoulders. The gaoler had not yet returned, and the place seemed just as silent as before. She had no idea how much time Jaime would manage to keep him away, so she needed to be quick. And discreet. She had no idea who could hear her, and she did not want to put Nestor Royce through even more risks. The man was loyal, sure, but torture could make anyone talk. She looked at him again and took a deep breath.

 

“I need help. I am heading towards the Eyrie, and I need an escort. A loyal one.

\- You are on your own? In enemy territory?

\- Not on my own,” she replied with a smile. “But I still need soldiers. Who can I trust?

\- It is hard to tell these days, my Lady. Most of those still loyal to you are down here. The rest of the soldiers, well…” He sighed. “They did not exactly brag about it.

\- So there is no one left here to be loyal to House Arryn?”

 

Nestor Royce did not reply. He just looked down and as he did, she felt her heart dropping as well. _How could I have been so gullible?_ How could she believe so genuinely that she would find men to give up on everything and follow her to the Eyrie? She closed her eyes and gulped. She should have known – she should have expected it. Her father’s tales about the Valemen’s loyalty to their liege house, the way he spoke of his bannermen and soldiers as if they were members of their family, it was all lies. Of course it was. After all, even the Northerners got used to the Boltons, as long as the appearances were safe. Why not her people?

Stupid sheep, all of them, following the first man to declare himself their liege. As long as they benefited from him, why would they try to change the status quo? Why would it matter whose name sat at the top of the mountains, as long as they were shielded from the war and found food in their plates? And the nobles – they were no better. One mistake, one small mistake on her part and they would pit against one another for the Eyrie, forgetting their grand speeches of loyalty and honour. If she failed here, if Baelish got his hand on her, none of them would do anything to save her. _Or if they do,_ she thought bitterly. _It would be only in the hope of gaining something._ Or else betray her afterward, calling her weak and unable to rule.

A part of her was drowning in despair, realizing that, indeed, none of what her father taught her was true – even the part everyone agreed with. But it was just a small part, it was the flip side of the coin. The other part, the other side was _angry._ And it was overwhelming, the anger she felt, the same kind she felt after Stannis Baratheon’s betrayal. Once again she tasted blood in her mouth, but this time it was not just his blood, or Baelish’s. It was all these men’s, all these _sheep_ heading for the slaughter with a smile on their lips. The chief guard upstairs, every soldier inside this damned stronghold, even those who called themselves her allies but were already scheming behind her back – it was their blood she tasted.

She wondered, for a second, if it was this kind of anger that led Tywin Lannister to burn down House Tarbeck and drown House Reyne. Behind her closed eyes, all she could see were the green flames that engulfed Duskendale and destroyed Stannis Baratheon’s army – and his blood on the ground when the executioner’s blade fell on his neck. Did he feel the same urge she felt to be terrible, so that no one else dared rise against him again? To be monstrous, so that the entire world knew what it cost to rise against a Lannister? _He probably did._ She did. _And if the Eyrie has to fall into Baelish’s hands, I swear by the Gods that it will burn down. I swear by the Gods that I will burn it all down, myself with it, if it means his ruin._

 

“I should have never trusted my father’s words,” she hissed, her eyes still closed. “When he spoke of loyalty and honour.

\- My Lady?

\- Is there truly no one I can trust inside this castle?” She opened her eyes again and stared at him. “All I need is a dozen of men. As for the rest… If loyalty is a lie, fear might work just fine.

\- I…” Royce stammered, visibly disturbed by her chance of behaviour. “I suppose there must be some. The new Lord, whatever his name is, could not put everyone in cells. Those who were too close to, well, my most trusted men and me were relocated in the wayward castles.

\- Which ones?

\- Probably Stone. The other castles are not big enough to host many men. If you manage to get there… Search for a Yaris.”

 

 _So we need to make the first part of the journey alone,_ she thought. She nodded to herself and took a deep breath. She could not let anger, although a righteous kind of it, cloud her mind now. She could not burn the Vale down and she could not slaughter her way to the Eyrie – she wanted to, but she could not. _Show mercy to those who bend the knee,_ she remembered her father saying. But he said nothing about those who refused. Tywin, on the other hand, said something about that. _Serve them steel and fire._ She served steel to Stannis Baratheon, and fire to his army.

To those who wronged her here, in the Vale, she would serve the sky. _Make them fly,_ she mused, and it brought a smile to her lips. _Make them all fly._ Oh they would. She would do it herself if they tried to stop her. And no man, living or dead, would stop her. No fantasy of mercy, no dreams of loyalty, no amount of pretended forgiveness would stop her. If they could not understand loyalty, they would understand _fear._

 

“You shall be free as soon as this is over,” she said as she rose on her feet. “Your loyalty… Shall be rewarded. You have earned the title you have been wearing for so long.

\- My Lady, as much as I am honoured and want you to succeed, what you are doing is reckless.

\- Do you think all these men will heed my orders if I do not go as far as standing on the front line, Lord Royce?” He did not reply. He lowered his eyes again. “These men only understand violence and power, so violence and power I shall give them.

\- I… I suppose you are right.

\- I am. And believe me when I say that if I am to fall, they will all fall with me.”

 

He nodded, indecisive and unsure of what she exactly meant, and she turned away to return to the stairs. When she reached the bottom of them she heard Jaime’s voice, as well as the gaoler’s. She froze. _Seven Hells, they are coming._ There was no way she could hide, and there was no use – the gaoler would see her, sooner or later. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and put her hood back on. She had to compose herself. She had to be the meek, mute young woman they were searching for – lost and despaired. _I have to be the way I was always supposed to be,_ she mockingly thought. _A stupid and beautiful woman, with a head filled with lies and vacant hopes._

When they both arrived, she was clutching on her cape, looking everywhere around her as if she were trying to find a way out. When she saw Jaime, she gasped and rushed in his arms. It felt like the most unnatural thing she ever did, but he went with it and pretended to be _so relieved_ that he let go of his torch that rolled down the stairs. The gaoler looked less than impressed by the scene.

 

“What she doin’ here?” he groaned. “’Tis not a place for a lass.

\- She must have got lost.” Jaime darted a look. She nodded. “Yes, that’s what happened. Gods, woman, never do that again!

\- Yeah, you better no wander here again, or I’ll have to tell the chief guard. No one’s supposed to come down.

\- Of course she won’t. Right?” She nodded again, firmly. “Thank you for you help, good sir, I’ll never forget it!

\- Right, right, just go and leave me alone."

 

He waved them away, apparently more than annoyed by the whole situation. Jaime grabbed her wrist and took her upstairs. They walked in silence to the barracks, where their _room_ was supposed to be, crossing path with soldiers who laughed as they congratulated Jaime for finding her but mostly ignoring them. She sat on the edge of what was probably supposed to be a bed while he closed the door and made sure no one could hear. He dropped his act and groaned as he massaged his jaw. _That is what smiling for too long does to you,_ she thought mockingly. She was so used to it that the muscles were probably the strongest in her entire body.

But it was not Jaime’s case, apparently. He turned to look at her and gestured her to brush away the dust on her hair, face, clothes. She did so, absentmindedly, as she looked at him. She had no idea how much time she actually spent with Royce, but however long it lasted he had to pretend to be a desperate husband and _that…_ That had to be hard, for someone like Jaime Lannister.

 

“Never again,” he groaned. “You heard me? Never again.

\- Hopefully you will not have to.

\- So? Did you find him?

\- I did.” She took a deep breath and forced a smile. It came out wrong, she could tell – she could see it, in the way he looked at her. She scoffed, sombre. “There is not anyone in this castle who can help us.

\- What do you mean?

\- I mean what I just said. There is not one single soldier within these walls who would help us.”

 

They shared a long stare, silent and heavy. Jaime said nothing for a while, but he took a deep breath and ran a hand across his face. She still was not sure what she thought of his dark hair. It made him look sombre, of course, but it also cracked his mask. Somehow, with hair so dark, she felt like she could see glimpse of the side of him he hid. And it seemed like this side of him was staring back, tonight, as it had the night before. He quieted all the questions he had – how they would survive on their way to the Eyrie without an escort, what the plan was, what they were going to do now, he asked none of that.

He just stayed there, waiting for her to speak again. She had a lot of things to say, a lot of things to scream, but she could not do it now. And she did not want him to see her, hear her. Her anger was righteous and legitimate, and it was what drove her not to fall on her knees and give up on everything, but this? This he could not understand. The desire to _kill_ , destroy, to make it all crumble down if she could have it for herself. This… Resembled his father’s wrath too much. This… _Resembles Aerys’ madness too much._ It scared her and it fascinated her, all at once. She eventually smirked.

 

“It does not matter. There are some in Stone, the first of the Eyrie’s waycastles. They will do.

\- What does it mean for you?

\- For me?” She tilted her head. “Why should it mean something, pray tell?

\- We are heading to the Eyrie, where Baelish and most of his trusted men are. Whoever is in Stone cannot protect you from his army,” he continued, softer. His tone irritated her the way it did in the ship, but she shrugged it off. “I cannot.

\- You fear that we will step into a castle where all soldiers will obey Baelish’s order and not mine, do you not?”

 

He nodded. She chuckled lowly, shaking her head as she stood up to walk closer to him. She pulled the hood away and she stopped once in front of him. When exactly had she earned that man’s trust and loyalty? How exactly had she done that? She could not answer those questions, not more than she could answer two others. _When exactly has he earned my trust and loyalty? How exactly has he done that?_ Perhaps it was not a one-time thing, maybe it was everything they did and said. This man was not particularly scared of going at the top of the highest mountain of the world for her, even if it meant climbing to a certain death. Would she do the same thing for him? _Would I?_

 

“Are you scared, Jaime Lannister?

\- Should I be?” He remained still, fixing his gaze on her and her hair again. The gleam in his eyes had returned. “Or should they?

\- So you do understand me.” She smirked. For some reason… Some dark and unfathomable reason, she wanted to get closer to that man with unnatural dark hair. She wanted to touch him. Be touched. “They will obey me, or by the Gods I swear I will make them.

\- What makes you think you can make them?” he asked, his voice strangely distant. “You are just one woman, and they are many.

\- Baelish is just one man. If their loyalty to me was so easy to swing, one woman can make it swing back.”

 

 _Or make them swing out of the Eyrie and fly, fly, fly._ She smiled again and clenched her fist to refrain herself from reaching for his jaw. Anger blurred her mind, and she could hardly think straight. She had no idea why suddenly she felt like… She froze when he did what she did not, and cupped her cheek in his hand. It was warm, warmer than her own. She kept staring at him in the darkness of the room and only found the strength not to lean unto his touch – not the strength to push his away. She remained frozen, still like a statue, as the side of him he hid embraced her whole in this single touch.

 

“Yes,” he just said. “Yes, you of all people can do that.

\- They will pay for what they did, I swear to you.” She did not have the strength not to reach for his hand on her face. She brushed it, tentatively, as if she were not sure it truly existed. “Are you still with me?

\- Do you see me leaving, Shara Arryn?”

 

He smiled and, for one second, one small second, she swore he leaned toward her as if he was going to… _No._ He did not. He took his hand back, shook his head and turned away, as if he had just snapped back from whatever unnerved state they had both fallen in. He said something about getting some food and he vanished behind the door, leaving her alone in the middle of the room, still frozen on her spot, more troubled now than before.

Her anger made her snap back as well, a few seconds later, when it reminded her of what she was doing here in the first place. She turned away, ran a hand across her face and shrugged off every last bit of whatever had just happened. _Have them fly,_ she thought. _Have them fly and you can think about that when it is done._


	26. As high as honour

They left the Gates of the Moon at dawn, borrowing mules trained to journey on the Giant’s Lance with the chief guard’s authorization. _Anything for the Lord Regent,_ he said with a wide smile. _Anything for the Lord Regent,_ Jaime replied. She just stared at the chief guard, thinking that he would be the first she would put to the sword once done with _the Lord Regent._ They started their ascension toward Stone before the sun truly appeared behind the mountains around them and saw its first rays of light as they arrived in sight of the first waycastle. She remembered that the first step of the ascent was rather easy, and indeed it was. The mules were trained and used to the path pressed narrow by the many trees on each side of the way.

Snow was a big, fat keep overtopped by two round towers that blocked the path to the Eyrie. It was the biggest of the waycastles, and it was the only one that could be actually called a castle. It usually hosted very few soldiers, but they realized it was rustling and swarming with life. The portly knight who commanded the place let them in when they explained who they were and why they were here. He offered refreshments and ordered one of his men to prepare two other mules so them to continue their journey up the mountains.

They were left alone for a while, enough for Jaime and Shara to walk away from the most crowded places of the castle to isolate themselves. She had to find a _Yaris_ , according to Nestor Royce, but there were more men here than they found in the Bloody Gate so it felt like looking for a needle in a haystack.

 

“How will we find those of the men who are not planning to have us killed?” Jaime eventually asked when he was certain they were alone. “Who are we even searching for?

\- Someone named Yaris. Perhaps we could ask the knight who keeps the castle, whoever he is?

\- If he is supposed to be a dissident, I am not sure we should _say_ we are searching for him.

\- He is not enough of a dissident to have been jailed or executed,” she retorted, frowning. “If we pretend the Gates’ chief guard recommended him to us, he might believe it.

\- Yes, he _might._ And if he does not?

\- Then we search for him on our own, and it _might_ take a long time so go speak to the knight now.”

 

She frowned deeper and adjusted her hood on her head. He sighed and was probably going to talk back before he realized there was no use. He simply looked daggers at her and gestured her to follow him back to the stronghold’s yard, where the commanding knight was talking with some other soldiers. He turned when he noticed them and dismissed the man he was talking to. The man genuinely looked welcoming – which was rather surprising, coming from a man commanding an isolated and mostly unvisited castle. But it was rather pleasurable. She did not remember who this man was, but he seemed to be taking his position seriously.

 

“Sorry to bother you again,” Jaime said with a smile. “But we’re searching for one of your men.

\- One of my men? What for?

\- The Gates of the Moon chief guard recommended one of your men when we left. He said he knows his way around the mountains, especially after Snow.” He exchanged a look with her and pretended to be embarrassed. “My wife’s not very comfortable with the idea of, y’know, climbing all the way up there on our own.

\- Ha, yes, I can’t blame her,” he chuckled. “Well, who’s this man then?

\- A Yaris, apparently.

\- Yaris?” The knight seemed surprised and looked at them both. “Are you sure?”

 

She saw Jaime tensing and she simply nodded, shyly. The knight’s face went through a variety of emotions, from surprise to uncertainty, doubts, questioning, a hint of suspicion and, suddenly, realization. He burst out into laughter and asked some soldier who lingered to go seek Yaris. Jaime and Shara shared a glance, unsure of what it was supposed to mean. Was it good? Was it bad?

 

“Ha, he has that sense of humour, this man,” the knight continued. “Yaris _hates_ the mountain, it’s the highest he’s ever been on the Giant’s Lance.

\- So it’s some sort of a joke?

\- I think it is, sorry you’re the victim.” He shrugged and looked behind them. “Ah, here he is. He’ll tell you himself, and he’ll find you someone more able to help you.”

 

They both turned to watch a burly and gruff man nearing. If she ever saw that man before, she had to recollection of him. He looked like many other soldiers, nothing suggested that he was more loyal than his fellows. The knight quickly explained the situation and announced that he had to attend to his duties, leaving the three of them together in the middle of the yard. Shara eyed Jaime who nodded. They could not remain here, and they could not allow anyone near them. He cleared his throat and gestured the Yaris to follow them. He did not budge.

 

“I ain’t climbing the mountains for you, whatever the moron down there told ya,” he groaned, less than amused by the entire situation. “Ain’t no friend of mine, see?

\- Yes, so we understood, but maybe you could…

\- I have other things to do. I’m not paid to help travellers.” He darted them a dark look. “‘Specially those with gifts for the regent.

\- Listen, we just want to speak,” Jaime stopped him before he turned away, holding on his shoulder. “We’re friends, and we’re sent by friends.

\- Just told ya the chief guard ain’t my friend. Let me go, boy, before I have to twist that arm away.”

 

Jaime slowly unhanded him and looked at her. The man was already walking away, looking sombre and annoyed. _Gods,_ she thought. _Can anything be easy? Just once?_ She kept an eye on Yaris not to lose him just now and gestured Jaime to come closer. While no one was looking, she mouthed one word – one syllable. _Royce._ He seemed not to understand, then actually did and shook his head. She insisted. They had to move on, they could not stay within Stone too long and they had already taken too many risks to just stop. She gestured him to catch the soldier up and followed him slower, as to not attract too much attention.

Jaime grabbed his arm again and, before he could push him away, he whispered that _Nestor Royce sent us._ Yaris froze, stared at him for long seconds, then at her as she walked closer. His face went from anger to suspicions and he narrowed his eyes as if he could see through their disguise. _He cannot._ Her hair was still perfectly black, her hood still perfectly on and Jaime Lannister still did not look like Jaime Lannister. The dark circles under their eyes and the pains they shared were no disguises anyway.

 

“He can’t have sent ya,” he retorted. “He’s in jail. Courtesy of the regent.

\- We know. We talked to him. He said there was no one we could trust inside the Gates of the Moon,” Jaime continued, completely forgetting the accent he was supposed to fake. “But he mentioned you.

\- Who’s _we_ anyway? Why should I trust ya?” He frowned and eyed her. “’S far as I know, you two could be spies. He has a lot of them.

\- If you only followed us somewhere… Quieter, we could tell you who we are exactly. Somewhere no one would hear us.”

 

His eyes did not leave her, as if he was starting to understand Jaime was not the most important part of the couple. Sensing that he just needed a soft push before he accepted to follow them, she pulled her hood away from her eyes so that he could see her face. She did not remember him, but he might remember her – mayhap he was part of her father’s personal guard, back in King’s Landing, or perhaps he saw her face on a portrait. He frowned even deeper and seemed both confused and doubtful as he detailed her face… And stared at her eyes.

 _Arryn eyes,_ they sometimes called them. Not as blue as the Tully’s, not as grey as the Stark’s, though depending on the generation they were either greyer or bluer – her father had rather striking sky blue eyes. When he stared at someone, it felt like his eyes could see through this person, through the masks, the smoke and mirrors. Her mother should have had lighter eyes, because her own were more like a summer sky – a lighter, faded shade of blue. The septa who used to tutor her often said it gave her an inquisitive, harsh look. Jon Arryn said they were just _Arryn eyes._

He slowly nodded and asked them to follow him. She remained close to Jaime and they both fell into step behind him as he led them through a few corridors, backdoors and stairs before they reached some sort of abandoned walkway between two cellars. There was even more dust there than in the curtains she hid behind in the Gates of the Moon, and she prayed the Seven Gods she would not have to try to hide again here. Yaris carefully closed the door behind them, inspected the small windows and the other door and stopped in the middle of the place. She took a deep breath and removed her hood. The man kept on staring at her as she tried to find the right words to test his actual loyalty.

 

“I talked with Lord Royce,” she cautiously said. “And as I trust him, I shall trust you.

\- Who are you?” He _knew_ , deep down, but he did not seem to realize. “We don’t have that many friends around these days.

\- Let us say that I am someone who hates Littlefinger just as much as you do.

\- Are you… Are you the Lady Arryn?” She did not say anything. She just smiled. He suddenly paled and lost all composure. “Seven Hells I… Oh, no, I shouldn’t talk like that in front of… Apologies, m’Lady, I didn’t…

\- That is quite alright, good fellow.”

 

Jaime had crossed his arms over his chest and stared at him with a mocking, lopsided smile. She frowned as the soldier clumsily knelt in front of her. She immediately asked him to stand and gestured him to sit on the nearby piles of chests. She did the same. She could not pretend she was not weary – her back hurt and she felt nauseous. Nothing new, of course, but her Maester’s words revolved in her heads and she could not shake off her concern.

 

“What are you doing here, dressed like… Like some common woman?

\- We are heading to the Eyrie,” she explained. “To take back what is mine. I hoped to find loyal men to accompany me, but, alas, the Gates of the Moon have fallen into enemies’ hands.

\- That’s for sure, m’Lady, the Lord Baelish has scattered all those who resisted him in the waycastles. Most of us are here, ‘cause he didn’t want us too close.” He looked at Jaime for a second before looking at her again. “So you’re alone? You’ve been travelling on your own?

\- The two of us, yes.

\- If you allow me, m’Lady, that’s bloody brave. And a tad stupid.”

 

For a second she tensed, unused to this kind of remark from a commoner. But then she heard Jaime scoffing, and laughing with Yaris who barked more than he laughed, and she understood that there was more than mockery in what he said. She relaxed and nodded because, indeed, it was a stupid thing to do. _I can hardly argue that, I suppose._ Their mirth only lasted so long before silence returned, no less heavy than a few minutes before.

Yaris seemed to be lost in his thoughts, while Jaime stared at him. She could not tell what the two men could be thinking about, but she imagined they were trying to imagine how they could all get away with her _stupid plan_. She waited for a few more instants before she rose from her improvised seat, cleared her throat and continued to talk.

 

“How many men do you think you can gather?

\- It depends, m’Lady, how much time you give me.

\- Two hours, at most,” she exchanged a glance with Jaime. “We need to be at the Eyrie as fast as possible. Tonight would be ideal.

\- Well…” He ran a hand through his beard, wincing. “I guess I can find a dozen of men for sure, maybe up to twentyish.

\- How many men can we expect to join us in the other waycastles?” Jaime intervened. She frowned. “If we are to arrive at the Eyrie by the night, there is little use in hiding yourself once we have left this place.

\- Probably the same amount in each castle?”

 

 _So sixty men or so,_ she calculated. She could not help smirking. _The exact amount of Lannister men Tywin gave me._ Sixty men could hardly do anything against a castle filled with soldiers, but they could at least make an impression and buy her some time. It was _exactly_ what she needed: enough time to turn them against Baelish and be able to get rid of him. All she needed was enough time to turn the castle in her favour – her army, once gone past the Gates of the Moon, would do the rest. She took a deep breath and nodded, but Yaris looked puzzled and doubtful again.

 

“Thing is, m’Lady, I can’t be too blunt or the knight’s gonna find out somethin’ going on.

\- Try to gather twenty men,” she said, trying to sound as confident as possible. “Pick the most loyal and leave the others.

\- Yeah but how do you plan to convince Ser Olivar to take twenty of his men with ya?

\- To keep us safe during the climbing?

\- No.” She shook her head and looked outside, through the small, dirty window. “The fewer people on the path the safer. It would not convince him.

\- You pretended the chief guard talked ‘bout me, aye?” She nodded. “We should just pretend that was a… Code, or somethin’. Everybody knows your army took the Bloody Gate and Littlefinger’s scared shitless to see soldiers reachin’ his stolen castle.”

 

 _Now that is a clever plan._ Jaime seemed rather impressed and nodded, appreciative. She bid him to be as discreet as possible and to only contact those whose allegiance he was actually sure of, and let him leave through the second door. She found herself with Jaime again who remained silent for a while, looking through the window as well. There was nothing interesting behind it except the snowy heights of the Giant’s Lance. It was too small, but at the top of the peak one could probably already see the Eyrie’s seven spires. They would soon be there.

 _If Yaris is actually loyal._ Some dark part of the mind whispered that he might have tricked them, and that she should expect _Ser Olivar_ to come here and arrest them both. At least they would be taken to the Eyrie without bothering to gather men – the drawback was that they would probably be both thrown into a sky cell, with the untold hope that they would fall to their death. She shook her head to shake off these thoughts. Wisdom and experience commanded her to trust no one, but the situation’s urgency left her no other choice.

 _No other choice…_ Once again, it was so much easier to pretend there was _no other choice._ She chuckled to herself, catching Jaime’s attention. They looked at each other for long seconds and, given the way he looked at her, she understood that he shared her thoughts about him. He looked like a decent man, this Yaris, but decent men had done terrible things during the war and otherwise decent men could make the worst choices possible. _Is that not right, father?_

 

“What do you think about him?” he eventually asked. “Does he look like someone you would trust?

\- You should not ask this kind of question, lest you wished to hear the answer.

\- If that is of any interest to you, he does look like someone _I_ would trust.

\- Really?” She could not hide her surprise. “Why so?

\- He asked none of the questions a spy would ask. How did you manage to convince the chief guard to let you in the Gates? What do you wish to do once in the Eyrie? What is your actual plan?” There was a small silence and he scoffed. “I suppose there was not much to answer to that one, though.

\- He does not have to be a spy. He could just be someone who changed sides.

\- He could be.”

 

He rose from his seat and gestured her to follow him back to the yard. She put her hood back on her head as she followed him through the doors, corridors and cellars they had already walked through once. He stopped in the last of them. It was mostly empty, so mostly unused – no one was there, of course. He turned to look at her and gestured the yard they could see through the slits in the wall.

 

“You are not going to win this out of sheer spite,” he warned her, his voice lower than before. She was going to say something but he stopped her. “I know that it rather worked until now, but spite, anger and pride are not something this kind of men understand. You do not get to be spiteful, or angry, or prideful when you can hardly feed your family, these are all luxuries they cannot afford.

\- What are you trying to…

\- You are supposed to be mute.” He shushed her and sighed. “What I mean is that your only way to win this is to be exactly who you have in front of the Bloody Gate. Once up there you will have to show that you _trust_ your men, that you would place your life in their hands without hesitation and that you are doing this because it is your duty. Just like it is theirs to lay down their arms for you.

\- Do I truly look like Stannis Baratheon to you?

\- Once you were loyal to him. Try to remember why you were.”

 

She froze, startled. _Why I was loyal to him?_ She blinked and looked away. She was loyal to him because her father was, because it seemed like the right thing to do – because he asked for her support when he died. He had the best chance of winning against the Lannisters as well, because he had the most numerous army and because he was the only one who had actually waged a war before. His claim sat comfortably with her father’s teaching – a dutiful man, rigid and honourable in a way the kingdom could hardly fathom. Someone who never wished for war, but simply waged it because it was _his duty._ Someone who trusted his allies.

 _Until he stopped trusting me._ A flame of anger and frustration lighted in her mind, but she brushed it off. Jaime had not moved, he was staring at her as if he were waiting for something, for some reaction to what he just said. She had none. She did not know what to say or do. _He wants me to act like him?_ But Stannis Baratheon was not loved by his people, and they barely supported him. _Not loved,_ she thought, _but his soldiers fought to their death for him._ Many died for him during the Battle of the Blackwater, and even more during the Fires of Duskendale, but very few of the survivors actually accepted to bend the knee. Many were put to the sword.

They all knew why he was leading them to battle. Not because he felt like he was the best option, not because he considered himself fit to become a king or because he yearned for the crown and the throne – because it was _just_. And it was so righteous and so just that he relied on his army to take him to the throne, and because he trusted them, they trusted him in return. _So this is what he wants me to do._ Be this kind of person. Be a second Stannis Baratheon, or a second Jon Arryn. She chuckled bitterly. _How delusional can he be?_

 

“Once I was, indeed,” she replied with a twisted smirk. “But then I got his head because he stopped… How did you say that? _Trusting_ me.

\- You can be as dramatic as you want, Shara, and pretend your heart and soul are as black and shrivelled up as my father’s.” He seemed unimpressed by her sarcasm. _He sees right through everything,_ she realized. “But what you did in front of the Bloody Gate was not faked, because it could not be.

\- That was before I learned that no one here remember their loyalty for me. Why should I be to loyal to them if they refuse to be loyal to him?

\- You would not be filled with rage if their loyalty did not matter to you,” he retorted and she suddenly wished she could twist his neck and be done with him. “You would not look like a feral animal, and pray for them all to die, if you had no loyalty to them as well. Perhaps the Shara Arryn who had rendered her life to Stannis Baratheon is gone, but _this?_ This is what remains of her. You will speak of vengeance when you have regained the power to inflict it.”

 

She gritted her teeth and was going to retort something when he waltzed away and returned to the yard. _You… Bloody…_ The flame of anger had turned into rage, but this rage was really just frustration and the old familiar pain she felt every time Jaime, or anyone else, mentioned Stannis Baratheon and everything that happened… _Before._ She remained still for a few second, unable to move at first. _Their loyalty has no meaning for me,_ she thought. _As long as they behave the way I want them to._ She was not there to regain their sympathy, or their trust, or whatever mushy feelings they might have had for her father – she was there to reclaim her birth right. What they thought about it mattered very little.

But could she really pretend she was not expecting… More? _I killed Stannis Baratheon because he forsook his loyalty and trust in me._ She did it because it mattered, because it always mattered, because of everything she did _because_ it mattered. And now she wanted all these stupid soldiers, these stupid Lords and Ladies to _die,_ and to _suffer_ and to _fly down the Giant’s Lance until they are beat to a pulp_ because they were not supposed to do the same. For a second she feared she might collapse under _the sheer pain_ she felt at the idea that they had also betrayed her.

They were supposed to be eternally loyal, because it was the way of the world. Because it was what she had been taught her own life. Because it was their _duty._ Because _she wanted it to be._

As pain turned into anger again, she would have laughed if it the thought were not entirely pathetic and dreadful. Perhaps her father had imprinted a deeper mark in her than she thought – perhaps she did not really flip the coin, and perhaps Tywin was wrong when he thought he had changed her. Perhaps she simply took further what was always there, and turned her father’s vague and yet rigid principles into lethal rules. _High as honour,_ he said. _You shall always remain as high as honour, so that our people never forget who House Arryn is and why they are loyal to us and us only._ Dutiful and obedient, little Shara Arryn nodded and smiled like the meek little lady she was.

Shara Lannister, né Arryn, was going to give these words their full meaning. _I shall always remain as high as honour, so that my people never forget who House Arryn is and why they should have never stopped being loyal to me and me only._ Jaime Lannister wanted mercy, trust and loyalty towards those who did not forget; she would oblige him. But the rest of them? _They are going to fly,_ she thought as she followed him outside. _From as high as honour._


	27. The sky opened the clouds dispersed

It was not nearly as hard as she feared it might be to convince Ser Olivar that _the Lord Regent himself insists that his guests are escorted by a few men, in these dire times._ She suspected that he did not actually care about whom he served, and probably was not too interested in his position either. He did not discuss the order, he just reluctantly gave them more mules – apparently they were running low on trained mules, these days, because _the Lord Regent_ kept them around the Eyrie instead of sending them back to the waycastles. Jaime promised to mention it, and the knight let them go.

Yaris had kept his word, and they indeed started their journey up the Giant’s Lance with twenty-two soldiers. He did not seem too happy to come along, but he insisted he had to be there to make sure they talked to the right men. The men he had gathered could hardly refrain from staring at her as they left Stone and began their climbing.

From this point forward, she knew that it would only grow steeper and steeped. She waited for Stone to have disappeared behind them, and made sure Snow was not yet visible before she shared a glance with Jaime and stopped the convoy. She was riding first, obviously, so all the mules and men walking behind stopped as well. Silence grew heavier as they all looked down, then up, then down. She pushed her hood away, glad to be able to finally get rid of the useful piece of fabric that prevented her from seeing right and left – and that reminded her that she was not welcomed in her own lands.

Jaime stiffened but said nothing. He remained close to her as if not entirely certain those twenty men were as trustworthy as Yaris said. Said Yaris was nearby and kept quiet. He probably would have smiled, if not for the emptiness under their feet – he looked more concerned by the idea of falling down than by the idea that one of his men could not be as loyal as he hoped. She took a deep breath as she carefully ignored Jaime’s intent gaze. _Reward their loyalty,_ it meant to say. _Hear me out, Jaime,_ she thought. _I hope you will like that._

 

“I have very little to say to you,” she simply said, ignoring the terrible void that surrounded them all – and her very own all-encompassing, ever demanding void. “Because though we are very close to the Eyrie, we have just begun our ascent. But already I must say this: I admire you all.”

 

Silence. Stunned, as if she had just spoken another language. She saw the shadow of a smile on Jaime’s lips as he seemed to relax. _I can do beautiful speeches,_ she mused. _And think absolutely naught of it._ But he did not need to know that, did he? She made room for a little dramatic pause and smiled wider. Warmer. She wondered what she looked like – did it look true? Did it look fake? Given that some of men smiled back, she guessed that it must have looked at least partly true.

 

“I have seen how many of your fellows have forsaken their true allegiance, and fallen for Baelish’s lies. I know how hard that must have been for you.” She looked at each of them individually. “I know how much risk you just took, when you answered Yaris’ call. Make no mistake; this will not be forgotten.

\- M’Lady, if you allowed me…

\- Yes?

\- We’ve been waitin’ for ye,” one of them said, looking at her shoulder more than he looked at her. “’Cause the Lord Royce said he called for ye. Where were you?

\- I received none of his letters, thanks to Petyr Baelish. I had… I received no information for a very long time.” She shook her head, losing her smile. “If I had known what you were going through, I swear I would have come earlier.

\- People whispered. They said it’s the Lord of Lannister, that it’s his plan and he’s controlling everythin’.

\- Do you think it is true? Do you think Tywin Lannister would let me be there, if he were controlling everything?”

 _Do you think he would let his very uncontrollable wife wander around the mountains while pregnant?_ There was a moment of hesitation – most of them shared an uncomfortable gaze, as if they were not sure if they _even could_ answer that question. But the answer was only too obvious: of course not. They gradually all shook their head, more and more convinced as they saw the other soldiers do the same.

She waited for a while, enough for them not to think she wanted to be done with it – with them. She slowly turned to look at the Eyrie, a white hue at the top of the mountain they were climbing, piercing the clouds it bathed in. They could not see much of it yet, but soon enough they would be able to distinguish the spires.

 

“From now on,” she said after a while. “I will no longer hide my face, I will no longer hide my purpose or who I am. I must know, though.” She turned her head again to look at them all. “Are you with me? Whatever happens in the Eyrie, will you stand by my side?

\- I served your Lord father for many years.” The oldest of the soldiers had stepped out of the rank and was looking at her as if he had always known her. “I followed him to the treacherous capital, and only returned home when he allowed me to.

\- What is your name, soldier?

\- Bryant, m’Lady. You wouldn’t remember me, you were too young when he sent me back.

\- You are a very loyal soldier, Bryant, if you followed my Lord father to such a terrible place,” she smiled. “I am asking no less bravery from you today.”

 

He nodded, decided. A flame of… Something, something she had not felt for very, very long lighted in her heart. _No,_ she thought. _It was not so long ago._ Just a few months. And yet it felt so distant, as she was trying to remember something long forgotten. _Is that what father felt, when he spoke of their loyalty?_ This… Warmth? She had felt loyalty before, of course, but she only seldom had been on the receiving end of the feeling. Jaime spoke of Stannis Baratheon, told her to remember what it felt like to be loyal to him – it felt like nothing, really.

 _Was he ever loyal to me?_ Did he ever feel this unshakable certainty that nothing, no one would ever change the trust he had placed in her? Suddenly the warmth in her heart turned to ice again, as she realized the question had an only too obvious answer. _Of course not._ He never was loyal to her, not as she was loyal to him.

The truth was harsh, really, but she realized that no one had ever been loyal to her before. She just thought her people were, because her father told her so – but they never were. They were loyal to him indeed, not to her. No one at court was loyal to her. No one anywhere. _Is Tywin?_ No, of course not. She was not loyal to him either. They simply worked together, for as long as it lasted and up until they found a good enough reason to throw off the agreement they had.

But this man? This man looked at her with resolve and certainty, as if he never doubted one second that she would come and reclaim what was hers – as if he never doubted it was hers in the first place. This was the kind of things Jaime had spoken about. _But these men are few,_ she mused bitterly. _And the rest are many._ To this kind of men she found easy to show mercy. To the rest? _Ha._

 

“M’Lady,” he continued. “Your Lord father always treated us right. He offered us shelter for our families, and food in our plates. He shielded us from the clans and when the first snow arrived, he stocked up on grains. We know you continued, through the Lord of Royce.” His face was turning red, as if he were finally saying something he meant to say for a long time. “But I’ve heard things. The Lord Baelish has taken the stocks, said we don’t need that much.” He turned to his fellows, who had remained silent the entire time and now looked at each other. “But it’s our grain he’s stealing, ain’t it? The grain that’s supposed to feed us through the winter!

\- How much has he stolen?

\- We can’t know, I’ve just heard ‘bout it. People say he seized the granaries of the north. My sister lives near Longbow Hall and she says she saw it with her own eyes!

\- What for?” Jaime asked, frowning. “What does he hope to make of it?

\- Don’t know, Ser. Maybe keep it for himself, or give it to his friends.”

 

Jaime and her exchanged a glance. She was not really surprised that he had that idea, but more surprising that he let anyone speak about it. The granaries were full, of course, so losing one or two would not famish the Vale – but it could surely be sold against a good amount of money, when winter is finally here. _Money_ , she thought, _or influence._ The realm would be in dire need for food in the months and year to come, with everything that happened to the Riverlands. The Vale’s stocks were precious, though most ignored just how full they were. Baelish probably considered it as an opportunity to gain leverage on the crown and on Westeros as a whole, to keep the Lannisters in check for as long as the realm needs grain to survive.

 _Which is a solid strategy._ It was hers as well, but it was _hers_ to use. She glanced at the Eyrie above and turned back to the soldiers who now looked angry and more resolved than before. _Fascinating, what hunger does to a man._ What the sheer thought of hunger could do to men who were otherwise not that certain they would fight. _Allow me to steal your strategy, Littlefinger, for my own benefit._

 

“Then it is worse than I thought,” she declared, frowning. “Stealing from me was one thing. Stealing from the Vale is a whole other. I ordered the levies to be increased so that we may all live through winter without starvation and privation, not for some ambitious bird to sell it to others. I know how hard it was for you, for Lord Royce has written a lot about it. I will not let Petyr Baelish squander your hard work, and endanger your lives and your families’. By the Gods I swear it.

\- We’ll tell the soldiers in Snow and Sky,” another soldier said. “They have to know he’s stealing from us!

\- We are going to tell everyone, from here to the Eyrie. Gather me as many of your fellows as you can, and we shall put an end to this mascarade.” She caught Jaime staring. “ Side by side. Are you with me?”

 

This time, a collective _aye_ echoed around the mountains as the now angry soldiers rattled their sword against their chestplate. She nodded, and she returned to her mule to resume their journey. She was not too sure Jaime meant that kind of speech, when he spoke of loyalty. _I cannot force them all to be like this Bryant, but I can appeal to their belly and their fears._ As the oath she had taken… A time would come when she would have to make a choice, between the Vale’s comfort and the entire realm’s survival – but now was not the time to think about it. She had sworn no oath to keep the reserved for the Vale, after all. _Those oaths they make us swear betray each other,_ he said. She had made no promise, this time.

They climbed their way to Snow, the single tower nestled against the Giant’s Lance, and they encountered little to no resistance when the soldiers who accompanied him started to rally those who were stationed here. They were as reluctant as they had been, but were equally convinced when Bryant spoke of the granaries Baelish was stealing. The knight in command seemed to resist at first, but when he understood that most of the men he had been given recently were not particularly loyal to Baelish he opened the gates and simply asked her not to punish him. _I followed the orders,_ he said. She asked him if the Regent had given him his position, and he swore that it was the Lord Royce, _a very long time ago when your Lord father still lived._ Once again she made no promise, but she did not order anything against him.

She just ordered his every man to follow her to the Eyrie, and they came. She seized all the mules within the keep and they resumed their climbing. This portion, of course, was the worst: the wind was blowing harder than ever before, and icier as well. The sky seemed closer, but it was only because they were reaching the highest point of the mountains. One look below – one look would freeze the most courageous of men, and indeed, Jaime Lannister froze when he looked down the mountains. From there, Stone and the Gates of the Moon looked like children toys. She stopped her mule and dismounted to walk to him.

Oh, she was not comfortable. She had walked this path before, but she was not used to it. She simply knew she had to keep her eyes up, and she also knew that everything she wanted was up there, not down below. She could not stop, so he could not either. She put a hand on his shoulder and shook it gently.

 

“We have to keep moving,” she said. “The soldiers say the wind will only grow more treacherous as the day passes.

\- You Arryns are utterly mad.” He was hissing. He turned his head to her very slowly. “I thought it was only you, but it is in your blood after all. And they say the Targaryen were mad! At least visitors were not supposed to _die_ before they reached their castle.

\- Well, now you understand me a little bit better. I swear that it is worth it.

\- Given that we can still very much _die_ up there, I do hope there is at least a good view.” He frowned and gulped as he kicked his mule into motion again. She mounted hers again and winced as she felt a sting of pain coming from her stomach. He noticed it. “Are you alright?”

 

 _By all accounts, I am everything but._ What she was doing was the exact contrary of what Maester Ruben told her to do – and the most rational part of her mind _knew_ that she was putting her life in danger. _And not just mine._ But at this point there was only one way to end this, and stopping was not an option. She dismissed his concern and her aching body and they slowly continued their walk. The stone stairs were cracked and broken, for ice had formed and thawed countless of times here and left traces with every winter that passed. Some passages were more dangerous than others, and they had to step down from their mules two times before they arrived in sight of Sky.

This waycastle was the smallest of the three, and it was just a high, crescent-shaped wall raised against the mountains. It was covered with frost, as was the path they had been walking for half an hour already. She would have given anything to put her hood on again, but she could feel the tiniest snowflakes falling from the sky. It clung unto her hair, white on black, and she hoped it would reveal the gold underneath. She _wanted_ to reveal the gold underneath. She ignored the fact that she could no longer feel her cheeks and she refused to put it on when a soldier mentioned that her lips were turning blue. At least this part of her body was not painful.

The soldiers had the gates open, and they once again did their speech. There were not a lot of soldiers stationed here, and they apparently knew about Baelish’s plans – the servants _talked_ a lot when they climbed down the Eyrie’s path to return to the valley below. One of them, and she silently blessed him for that, even said that he was planning to steal _all of the granaries_ so that he could buy the help of mercenaries from Essos. She obviously did not say that Essos had no need for food and that Baelish’s ways were not those of mercenaries when she noticed that her soldiers’ tamed anger had grown twice as strong.

As they were all rallying against him, each soldier adding so element to the collective fury, Shara and Jaime remained apart and watched them, stretching their legs and arms and trying to alleviate the pain of their whole body. _It only took a little push,_ she thought. _And they do all the work for me._ It was only too easy. Was it that easy for Baelish? What did he say to convince the Valemen to let him in, let him marry their late Lord’s widow and call himself Regent? Did he promise wealth? Did he promise to share his power, the way the old Jon Arryn never did?

 _Did he say House Arryn had doomed itself when it accepted to bend before the Lannisters?_ She smiled at the thought. Oh, but House Arryn was never so strong before. Her ancestors used to be kings, and their offsprings spent centuries remembering and dreaming of this blessed time – she was done dreaming. Kings and queens never made themselves on good words and weak spines, and the realm had forgotten about them. _Lady Olenna Tyrell, Prince Doran Martell, Petyr Baelish._ The Lannisters had reminded House Arryn of its true nature, and it was for the best.

 

“You look jubilant,” Jaime noted. “And we have not yet reached the castle.

\- Fear not, Ser, I have not forgotten that the worst it yet to come.

\- There are worse sights than your very rare smile.” He smirked. “But you should keep it for when we are certain to be victorious, lest you want to be remembered as the woman who smiled a lot but fell even more.

\- All this speech about loyalty and how I should inspire it,” she retorted, frowning. “And you cannot even pretend to trust my judgement. I am offended, _Ser Lannister._ ”

 

He barely glanced at her. He just rolled his eyes as he looked at the group of soldiers talking louder and louder. Yaris expected sixty soldiers to follow them, but they were closer to a hundred now. It was still nowhere near enough to fight back an entire garrison, but it was enough to give pause to said garrison. And, if Bryant were as convincing as he had been between Stone and Snow, he might just prevent a massacre.

In any case and at this point, whatever dices the Gods might have thrown had been thrown already. How strange and eerie a feeling, to be playing a game whose rules she ignored – to be playing a game whose winner had already won, yet still ignored they did.

There was another hour of climbing within the mountains now, until they reached the lowest level of the Eyrie and could make their grand entrance. They would be up there at nightfall. _What a convenient time to arrive,_ she mused. _By the time the sun sets and the moon rises._ She exchanged a few words with Bryant, who mentioned that she should not climb first, just in case they encountered resistance in the stony steps. He advised her to remain in the middle of _her loyal men_ , until they all reached the castle. _Then_ , he said, _you can walk first. We’ll follow._ It was a sensible advice, of course, so she did not discuss it. She let him go first, as he wanted, and take half of the hundred of men that were gathered around the stone ladder. There was a moment of hesitation as they stared at her. She did not need Jaime to nudge her to head toward them, her hair now properly soaked wet and dripping dark droplets on her cape’s furry collar. They were staring at her hair, of course, because it probably looked awful, and they were staring at her.

 

“I heard your concerns and your fear,” she said softly. “I suppose I cannot pretend to understand them just as well as you do. What I know is that the Starks may be right when they say that winter is coming; winter is already upon us today. Winter is not a time for sly men like Petyr Baelish, men who steal and barter their way higher than they deserve. Winter is not a time summer schemers.

\- It’s been ten years since it was winter last, m’Lady. How can we survive ten years of winter?

\- If anyone can survive winter, however long it lasts, it is you, Valemen.” She looked straight at the man who had talked and smiled. “My Lord father and I have stocked up grain, as much as possible, for more than a year already. Once we are done with the Baelish thief and once we are certain he did not tamper with our reserves, we shall prepare for this winter.”

 

Some of them nodded, others looked up at the stone steps that led up to the foundations of the Eyrie. She could not blame them for being scared – it was a proof of sanity to be scared of assaulting an unassailable castle. She looked up as well, and a sting of pain in her lower back suddenly made her doubt that her body could truly endure this amount of climbing in one day. _One hour,_ she thought. _It is just one hour._ And it would be over, for better or for worse.

 

“Back when the Vale was a kingdom, back when my ancestors called themselves Kings of Mountain and Vale, Aegon Targaryen and his sisters never found a way inside our lands; they had to fly, they had to come from above.” She looked at Bryant. “The dragons are gone now. We have survived every winter that came, every war that tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. The storms of the south, the snows from the north and the rains of the west have come and go, but we never yielded. We always withstood. This winter will be no exception, if you Valemen are still as strong as the stories say. Are you?

\- Aye!” Bryant hailed. Most of the hundred men followed the first time, and the rest did the second. “Aye!

\- Then let us be done with this puny thing who calls himself your Regent, and remind him what it means to be a Valeman.”

 

 _Aye!_ They repeated as they headed for the stone ladder. _Aye!_ She heard as they started their ascent. She ignored the sharp pain of her back and stomach when she climbed the first of the steps, and looked away when Jaime offered his hand to help her. If these men were brave enough to step inside the enemy’s den, then so was she. And it was just one hour.

One hour of excruciating pain. More than once she felt like she was going to faint, and fall to her death hundreds of feet below – but she did not. She was not sure what hurt her the most, and she was not sure where it came from. Was it her back, bruised and harmed by the days she spent riding? Was it all of her muscles, strained and sore from the walking? Was it exhaustion? _Is it the babe inside my belly, reminding me that its life is hanging by a very fragile thread that I keep on pulling?_ She refused to think about it, but one hour is a long time when tortured. At some point, out of despair and pain, she grabbed the hand Jaime kept on offering and she squeezed it with every each step she climbed. _To the Seven Hells with this bloody secret,_ she thought. _If I die of miscarriage at least he will know what to tell his father._

She almost let out a moan of relief when she heard the first of the soldiers stepping in the undercellar where the stone ladder led. Jaime practically hauled her on the castle’s floor when she reached the very last step, and she basically fell in his arms. She only managed to remain on her two feet because he held her tight enough. None of the men seemed to notice, though – they were way too many in the small undercellar for anyone to notice her collapsing in pain.

 

“What is happening to you?” she heard him whisper at her ear. “Why do you keep on reaching for your…

\- I am not reaching for anything.” She interrupted him as soon as she understood where he was going. _I have not even noticed I was… Reaching._ “I am just… Exhausted. Unhand me.

\- If I do unhand you, you will fall. Does this have anything to do with the maester you stole from Lord Waxley?

 _\- Not now, Jaime_ ,” she hissed. She pushed him away and staggered on her feet before she found her balance. “I am fine.

\- You are obviously not. If what you are trying to hide is what I…”

 

He did not get to finish – Bryant hushed everyone and gestured her to join him. She did, trying her best to hide the way she practically dragged herself. They had no time for a full speech, the noise they were making must have alerted the guards around the undercellar and they had to immediately head to the throne room. She looked at the gathering crowd of men in front of her and simply said, with a voice stronger than she truly felt.

 

“Let us begin.”


	28. To kill the king upon his throne

Finding her way through the numerous flights of stairs, corridors and back doors was not as tricky as she feared it might be. She remembered enough of the castle to remember the way to the High Hall. Usually any visitor would have to walk through the Crescent Chamber – the reception hall where the palace’s guards welcomed the guests who had taken the same way as they just did, but she remembered a way around the hall that led straight to a hidden backdoor, behind the weirwood throne. She ushered her hundred of men, as silently as possible, and they reached the back of that door.

She heard voices on the other side, a lot of them. People were talking and the conversation was lively – aggressive, even. The thick wood of the door and the marble of the walls prevented her from understanding what was said, but it must have been important to be discussed so late in the day. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Jaime’s. She frowned and shook her head. _Not now._

 

“Shara…

 _\- Not. Now._ ” She frowned even deeper and looked behind him. The men were all gathered, tightly grouped, waiting for her to push this door. “Can we do it?

\- We are right behind you, m’Lady.” Bryant was smiling. “And beside too.

\- Ser Lannister?

\- I stand with you.”

 

 _But you have not seen the last of me,_ his eyes meant to say. She turned to the door and took a deep breath. She shrugged off the pain, shrugged her the weakness she still felt, tried to convince herself all of that was just exhaustion. She raised her chin, ignoring her neck’s stiffness, and straightened her posture, ignoring her back and stomach excruciating aches. _This is what you have been fighting for this whole journey,_ she thought. _This is what you have been fighting for your whole life._ She closed her eyes for a second and pushed the door.

She only opened them when she made the first step into the High Hall of the Eyrie. Directly in front of her she could see the Moon Door, the narrow weirwood door that led to the nothingness below the Eyrie. It was closed. _For now._

The rustle of her men’s armour immediately caught the attention of the men who were talking in front of the throne – and that of the guards around. They raised their swords and their pikes as her hundred soldiers gathered around her like a corolla, their weapons drawn as well. Jaime remained behind her, closer than he should have. Bryant stood next to him. She raised her hand to stop the movement behind and in front of her and, for some reason, it did give pause to both her men and Baelish’s. She slowly walked past the wooden throne until she reached the centre of the Hall.

She remained reasonably far from the group of men who were now staring at her with both awe and anger. Her eyes were on one of them, and one only. Petyr Baelish, who stood between her and the Moon Door, his hands joined on his stomach. He did not look surprised. He did not look angry – it was just as if he had predicted this would happen. His eyes went from her to Jaime, then to her again and he smiled a cloying smile. She remained still and unmoved as she looked around them.

 

“Would you be so kind as to tell your lackeys to close their gaping mouth? They do look as if they had seen a ghost, and I like to believe I am still rather far from the grave.

\- You surely have your own way to roam around your grave, Lady Lannister.” He eyed the men next to him. They did close their mouth and looked down. “If only you had warned us of your coming, we would have welcomed you the proper way.

\- I am not sure there is not any proper way for a thief to welcome the rightful owner of the castle he stole. Did you really think I would remain ignorant of your doing here?

\- You did remain ignorant of it for a long time,” he noted, his eyes gleaming. _He is annoyed,_ she realized. _Very much annoyed._ “How curious that you came to know it through… Who was it? Your husband?”

 

She smirked and made a few more steps toward the centre of the room. A few soldiers followed, enough to keep the castle’s guards at bay. She could hear rattling in the corridors – more were coming. She ignored the noise. If she played her cards correctly, they would bend the knee and abandon their wannabe Lord. She simply needed to play _smart_ , smarter than she ever played. Petyr Baelish was not a man to be seduced, and he was not an easy man to fool.

 _It is not him I am aiming at._ She wanted to turn the Eyrie’s guards against him, and they were easier to fool. She had a weapon – the granaries, and she was going to use it. Just not now. _Not yet._

 

“Queen Cersei told me,” she corrected him. “I suppose she was not part of your plan?

\- When is she not?” He made a few steps toward her as well. There were only a few inches between them now. “But, pray tell, what plan would you be speaking about?

\- Let us spare each other the hassle of smoke and mirrors, shall we? No one here is a fool, or so I like to think.

\- You would know about these smoke and mirrors you speak about, would you not?” He tilted his head, venomous as ever. “How many have you used to gather this amount of soldiers? How many empty promises have you made?”

 

 _One,_ she thought. _One only. Because I do learn from my mistakes._ She raised an eyebrow and chuckled as the men behind her seemed to be practically groaning. She turned away, disregarding all rules of carefulness, and headed for the throne. She had no memory of her father sitting there, and she was not entirely sure he ever sat there at all. A throne was made for kings and queens – not for Lords or Wardens. She placed a hand on one of the armrest.

It had nothing to do with most thrones. It did not look like the irony monstrosity they called a throne back in King’s Landing – and it did not look like the fancy armchairs most Lords sat on. It was not just made of weirwood, it was a _piece_ of weirwood . It was barely carved at all, barely cut: it was a raw piece of wood, turned smooth with time. It was soft under her fingers, and it was strangely warm in the otherwise cold atmosphere of the Eyrie. _It is mine,_ she thought. _And mine only._

 

“Why do you not ask my men directly?” she softly asked, still looking at the throne. “They know how many promises I have made to gain their loyalty.

\- She made only one!” Bryant immediately retorted, his strong voice echoing under the high ceilings of the High Hall. “The Lady promised that she would not let this treacherous _snake_ steal from us any longer!

\- And what would have I stolen from you, soldier, that your noble lady had not stolen before?

\- Our hard work!” A pause. “Our grain!”

 

It was a bit ludicrous to hear such a _weak_ argument in the middle of their conversation, but she heard a collective gasp among the castle’s guards. _It is weak for us,_ she mused. _But for them? For them, it means everything and then some._ Baelish shook his head, scoffing in disdain as he turned to his men. She recognized Lyonel and Lucas Corbray, but the others were unknown to her. _Dead men, all of them._ And dead men had no name.

She finally turned to face Baelish again, her hand still placed on the throne. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at the sight of his mocking smile. He did not seem to realize that his _oh so loyal_ guards were staring at him with more and more doubts in their eyes as he kept on chuckling.

 

“Is there anything funny in what my soldier said, _Lord Baelish_ , that I would have missed?

\- So this is your great plan? Oust me from the Eyrie because I _stole grains?_ ” He giggled lowly, more mocking than even before. “What has Tywin Lannister done to the great Shara Arryn’s mind? Have you gone soft, my Lady?

 _\- Tss tss tss._ Listen to yourself,” she hissed, shaking her head. “So full of yourself, as if you were truly the master of this castle. You know the Starks as well as I do, I believe, and yet you seem to ignore the true meaning of their words.

\- I fear no winter.

\- Perhaps you should. It shall come to us all.” She looked outside one of the great windows nearby. “It already has.”

 

She released the throne and pushed back her hair behind her shoulders. She could not help noticing the dark stains on her hand, but ignored them. It was just dye. _I have had worse things on my hands._ Petyr Baelish seemed not to understand what exactly she was doing with this _grain problem._ Oh but he was right – she had been more subtle before. More cunning, and slyer too. But this time she did not need to be. Cunning and slyness worked on those who could understand them, and these soldiers were just glorified peasants. Sparring matches held no meaning to them.

It probably would have felt frustrating, if the anger she felt was not so all encompassing. At this point the only thing she wanted was him to slowly fall down his stolen pedestal, before he fell from his stolen castle. He had not yet understood, but he would. In time.

 

“But I do wonder, what would a man like you do with some granaries?” She tilted her head. “Surely not keep them to yourself. It is not as if you had anyone to feed.

\- I simply asked for a report on the state of our food reserves. I…

\- It is just like those stories you spread around, about the Hand of the king being so _enthralled_ by his new wife that she has him wrapped around her finger.” She did not let him finish. She was not done. “How ludicrous a story it is, for anyone who knows the man. Then again I wonder why you would tell such a stupid lie.

\- If you heard about it, then it means it must be believable,” he smirked again. “You should be thankful, my Lady, that I gave you the best role to play.

\- You did not always, did you?”

 

She returned to the centre of the room. The guards tensed again, as well as her soldiers nearby. She saw Jaime gesturing them to remain still. _Good,_ she thought. _At least he understands the plan._ She kept her head tilted as she eyed Baelish. To think a man like him could do the amount of the harm he did. Such a small man, in both height and stature, doing so much damage on a realm. _Doing so much damage on me._ If he had not stepped in, if he had not sought Stannis Baratheon, none of this would have happened – she would not be there, fighting for what was hers by all rights. Wearing another man’s name instead of hers. _Bearing his child,_ and hoping not to die because of it. She chuckled lowly and shook her head as it echoed under the ceilings, like dreary bells caught in the wind.

Oh but she had done a lot of things as well. Such a small woman she was, with such a small likeliness to succeed. Was it thanks to him? Was it because of him? _Despite of him?_ The game they were playing was not the fair kind, and she was not the type to feel forever grateful. Whatever role he played in her current position – she was not going to thank him of it.

 

“So I wonder too, what were you trying to accomplish when you whispered in Stannis Baratheon’s ear? When you twisted the truth, and twisted his mind with it?” She stared at him right in the eyes. “For a time I thought you wanted to see me fall, but it does not make any sense, does it? I am nothing. Or rather, I was nothing. Just a prisoner, waiting for someone to take her out of her gilded cage.

\- Why would you think it was me?

\- Because he told me himself before he died. What a stupid man he was, to believe a man like you.” She shook her head slowly. “One could think you did that for his majesty’s sake, so that the war ended quicker than it was supposed to. With Stannis Baratheon attacking King’s Landing without preparation, there was no possibility for him and his army to prevail.

\- I always was a loyal servant of the royal family,” he replied. His smile was slowly freezing in place. “As your Lord father knew very well.

\- I thought we said no smoke and mirror, Lord Baelish.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. He remained still. She could feel Jaime’s stare on her shoulders, as well as every guard’s eyes on her. This was not going to convince them, of course – it was all court schemes and blabbering. But the granaries were not that far from her mind. She would return to it, and appeal to the selfish nature of these men who surrounded her.

 

“If that were the case, you would have told the Lord Hand Stannis Baratheon’s plan,” she continued. “So that his majesty’s armies could crush his ludicrous attempt to seize power with a sweep. But you did not, did you?

\- Again, this is all guesswork. The Lord Hand did take his forces to Duskendale, with your blessings is it not? A secret letter is easy to send and easy to read.

\- Because I was the one to understand the plan. My _blessings_ were more than that.” Some guards started to share glances, startled by the full meaning of her words. “You sent no secret letter to the Lord Hand, Lord Baelish. Which leads me to understand this: the king was not the one you served when you whispered into the Late Stannis Baratheon’s ear.

\- Impressive.”

 

He clapped slowly, grinning. But his eyes – his eyes did not smile. They were now two blocks of ice, as he started to understand what she was hinting at. But it was too late. She had already caught everyone’s attention, and her story was not finished. She had just started the needlework. Soon enough the full tapestry would show, and it would become his shroud. She let him have his moment before she nodded.

 

“Why, thank you my Lord. But I must say that I am not finished.” She continued before he could speak. “There was no other king to serve, of course. Lord Renly was long dead, the Starks were gone… The Gods know where Balon Greyjoy is now. So there is only one person for you to serve. Yourself.

\- When have I ever pretended not to serve anyone but myself?” he hissed. “Those who pretend otherwise lie.

\- They do, of course. If it were just about saving yourself, I would be more than willing to understand.” She paused for a second. “But what you wanted was the entire realm to go down in flames, so that you could become king of the cinder.

\- My, my, my.” His eyes were now two burning pit. “Your anger speaks for you, Lady Shara. You are no longer rational.”

 

 _And you are scared, my Lord._ She did not react at all to his barely veiled insult, she just kept on smiling. Around them the silence was deafening. Everyone in the room was staring at them both, listening to everything they said, as if they held some dark, dark secrets none else knew. She slowly shook her head and continued, her voice soft and velvety.

 

“Am I, now? Everything was set up to be so convenient, though. Stannis Baratheon attacking from the north, with no one expecting him, could have caused a slaughter within the Lannister and Tyrell armies,” she noted. “Not enough of a slaughter to destroy them, of course, but enough to weaken them. But it did not happen, because Stannis Baratheon’s army burned in Duskendale.

\- I am starting to grow tired of your senseless verbiage, and so are these men around us.

\- You will let me finish, Lord Baelish, or I will make you.” A single gesture was enough for her hundred men to move forward in a single step. She paused, and continued. “So you headed to the Vale, as you were supposed to, and you resumed your mission; you married my goodmother, and called yourself Regent.

\- Mission?” Lyonel Corbray asked, looking at Baelish. “What mission is she talking about?

\- Allow me to answer your question, Lord Corbray. The Lord Hand Tywin Lannister had sent your so-called Lord Regent to the Vale as a way to keep me in check, when I was still his prisoner. To marry my father’s widow and act as a leverage in case I refused to behave.”

 

Petyr Baelish was now fuming as he started to realize he was gradually losing any amount of control he could have had over the situation. The guards were now shifting their weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do now. Should they defect? Should they remain by their master’s side? Was he even their master at all? They had never seen her before – they had heard about her, through him and his allies, through her goodmother and her paranoia. And they were staring, when they were not looking down in doubt, as if they were realizing that she might not be the woman they had heard about. _They surely did not hear about a worn-out, peasant-pretender woman with hair dripping black over her shoulders._

 

“That is why I did not hear about it earlier, of course, and it was part of your plan.” She started to walk around, slowly but decidedly, all around the centre of the room where Baelish stood still. “But when I arrived in the Vale, you understood that this too would not be as easy as expected, so you started to spread lies about Lord Tywin Lannister’s strength. The point, of course, was to undermine him within and, hopefully, outside the Vale. But you came to know your most formidable weapon when you read the reports: our granaries are full.

\- Has your journey starved you to death, for you to keep on returning to the bloody granaries?” He turned to the guards. “Will you end this nonsense or do I have to do it myself?

 _\- The bloody granaries_ are an incredible weapon, for the winter to come. With all these reserves within your hand you could decide who lives and who dies; who eats and who starves.” She eyed the guards. They had not made a move. “With Lord Tywn Lannister’s power sapped, all it would take would be a little more manipulation for the royal family to collapse on themselves… And for you to rise, king in lieu of the king, with the Vale’s food in your hands to squander around the realm.”

 

Time stopped, for a few seconds. No one moved, no one breathed. Even she stopped. She had just played her full ace – her four aces. Her soldiers were the first to make a move; another step toward the centre of the room. This time, the guards did not follow. They remained stuck in place, staring at both Baelish and her. She looked back at them and held their gaze.

But Baelish only looked at her. He kept his back turned on the many guards who had gradually started to fill the room – and now they were more numerous than her soldiers. But he could not see that, because he was staring at her and her only. Fuming. Tenser than ever before, but she realized now just how weak he always was. He just a tiny man, who had manoeuvred his way up the throne. All it took was a _little push_. He was just realizing that he had fallen from his throne, and as he did, the tension in his shoulders lessened and a cruel mockery of a smile appeared on his lips.

 

“You were always such a great talker,” he hissed. “Always so talented in turning things in your favour. I should not be surprised that you prepared such an intricate web of lies.

\- Would you swear by the old Gods and the new, in front of the Eyrie’s guards, my soldiers and every Lord and knight here that none of what I said is true?” She tilted her head. “That you did none of what I said?

\- I do not have to.

\- So you would not,” she smiled. “I cannot say I am surprised that you caused so much damage on the realm for the sake of your benefits, Lord Baelish, for it is very much like you. But planning to steal food from the poor during the direst time?

\- If it was not your own plan to begin with, I can assure you that it is Tywin Lannister’s!” He turned to the guards behind him, as if he had realized in how much danger he now was. “Did you really think he would let the Vale’s granaries alone, when the realm starves because of the war he led?

\- Tywin Lannister’s intentions regarding the Vale’s possession hold no weight, for I am the one and only Warden of the East.”

 

She grabbed the now very much worn-out pieces of parchment – a copy of their agreement regarding the Vale’s suzerainty and the royal decree that made her Warden of the East, and she gave them to Lyonel Corbray. He unfolded them, read them, eyed her and passed them to his brother, who passed it to another man standing next to him. From hand to hand, it eventually stopped in those of a guard who seemed to struggle to read it. He kept it in his hands, and did not pass it over. He looked around him, looked at Baelish and looked at her, unsure of what he was supposed to understand.

 

“Would you please read the parchment you hold?” she asked him. “For everyone to hear.

\- Let it be known that…” He read through the entire parchment, struggling to read the fancy titles, until he reached the only important part. “The Lady Shara shall remain only of the Vale of Arryn until a son born of her comes to be. Any decree, order or agreement concerning the lands of the Vale of Arryn and its people shall be signed and commanded by the Lady.

\- Thank you, soldier. I spare you the rest of the agreement, that mentions that in case of my untimely passing, only my brother Lord Robert Arryn shall inherit the title,” she quietly said. “Not Tywin Lannister. Not any Lannister. No one will give away our food except me. And I will not.”

 

Silence echoed, as the agreement went from hands to hands again until it reached her soldiers. Not all of them could read, of course, but those who could show the right part to the other. Guards and soldiers were now whispering, looking around, trying to find answers to questions they did not ask – but Petyr Baelish and her stood motionless in the middle of the room. Behind her, one of her soldiers called her name. She did not move. Another one added his voice, and another one, and another one until the hundred of men called her name. _Shara Arryn,_ they chanted. _Shara Arryn._

And Baelish’s face grew more and more distorted by anger as the voices grew louder and louder, enveloping the room in a war-like chant while the guards behind him did not make a single move. No one tried to stop the renegade soldiers. No one tried to seize her. They kept on staring, blankly and motionless like stringless puppets. He let out a frustrated groan and turned to the castle guards.

 

“What are you waiting for? Arrest her! This is an order from your Lord, _seize this woman!_ ” He gestured her, furious. “ _Seize this woman!_

\- Seize this man.”

 

Her voice could barely be heard through the chanting, but it froze it. Only silence answered the both of them, for a very long time. So she repeated her order. _Seize this man._


	29. Make them fly! Make them all fly!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so, so much for your kind comments, it's so nice to see that this fic still pleases you! Soon enough this arc of Shara's story will be done, but I'm not quite done with her... If you still want to read it, of course ;)
> 
> In any case, as it is Christmas in a few days, I wish you all a very happy holiday season and a merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it!

For a while, time stopped and no one moved. Everything set in motion at once, in a blur of movements and orders screamed. All it took was a single second with her eyes shut and suddenly everything whirled around her. An armour pushed her aside, a firm hand grabbed her arm and she was pulled away. Voices echoed against each other in a loud mixture of sounds and screaming. It could have meant everything, and anything, and nothing. And everything suddenly died down, and there was not a single noise around.

She opened her eyes again, and recognised Jaime behind her and his hand on her shoulder. And she saw Baelish, surrounded by both castle guards and some of her soldiers. Five of them, two holding each arms and one keeping a sword close to his throat. Suddenly the bloody bird sung no more, and just stared murderously back at her. She smiled quietly and looked at Jaime. He released her, carefully, and let her walk closer to the so-called Lord Regent. She nodded to each of the soldiers holding him to thank them, and stopped a few inches away. Just enough to be able to jump away if need be.

 

“Lord Baelish,” she said, sighing. “How could you have believed this could end well? Out of all the enemies you could have made, you chose the deadliest.

\- I guess I did underestimate you.” His grin turned feral. “I underestimated your treachery, saw too much of your father in you and not enough of your _Lord husband._

\- Your last mistake, my Lord. That, and underestimating the power of hunger and fear.” She looked at the guards and soldiers around her. She talked louder, for everyone to hear. “Underestimating the Valemen’s true loyalty to their liege house. Those men you dared call yours are not easy to fool, are they?”

 

A common _nay_ echoed. She looked at them all for an instant and then looked at Baelish again. _Now you are back on the filthy ground where you belong,_ she thought. _And about to fly._ She was going to order the Moon Door to be opened when a loud shriek suddenly arose in the main corridor. She turned her head and saw her goodmother, Lady Lysa _Baelish_ , enter the High Hall. She froze when she saw what was happening and her eyes quickly fell on her dear husband. She tried to rush to him but Jaime’s order was enough for three soldiers to hold her back.

She looked… _Dishevelled,_ for one, and properly mad as well. She had never been the sanest person she knew, of course, but with her auburn mane left untamed all around her puffy face, she looked like those lowlife women locked in sanatoriums. She never understood why her father even accepted to marry her. _To get a son,_ she thought. _A proper heir._ And what a heir she gave him, indeed.

 

“Unhand my Lady goodmother,” she ordered. She was sobbing loudly, ridiculous as ever. “Though I must say I ignore if I can still call you _goodmother_ , after what you did against your own house.

\- How dare you?! Release him! Release my husband!” she was shrieking still, and the soldiers immediately seized her again before she managed to reach her goddaughter. “You are _nothing_ , nothing! How dare you?!

\- I am sad to see you in such… Disarray.” She looked at one of them. “Would you please take my Lady goodmother back to her apartments? I believe she is in dire need of rest.

\- No! No you cannot lock me in my own castle! You… You filthy, ungrateful girl! Traitress to your blood!

\- Traitress to my blood?”

 

She turned away from Baelish and headed to her, to this stupid, ludicrous she had to call her _mother_ for so many years. This vain woman, this sham of a wife her father dragged around like a sack of grain. _Like a sack of weapons, for it is all she was worth._ Holster Tully’s armies, in exchange for a glorious marriage for his daughter. He simply failed to mention that she had already given her maidenhead to his own ward, and that the moon tea he had her drink made her barren. The sad excuse of a son she eventually gave birth to was simply the proof of the Gods’ misery.

There was nothing of Arryn in her, if not the name she forsook so easily for her new husband’s. She was _weak._ She was _a coward_. She hid at the top of her mountains, hiding from the Lannisters and the Starks, she who started the war when she claimed Lord Jon Arryn had been killed by the queen’s family. How could someone so insignificant and stupid could turn an entire realm upside down so easily? _I suppose Baelish and her were always meant for each other in that regard,_ except that he was never stupid.

 

“You dare utter these words before me? Have you forgotten, Lady Lysa, that you have surrendered lands that were never yours to begin with to this man?” She gestured Littlefinger behind her. “A man sent to woo and marry you to take control over _my father’s_ lands?

\- You lie! It is all you ever did, lie, lie, lie! The Lannisters have made you their own a long time ago!

\- Oh but I am not. Am I, Lord Baelish?” He said nothing, obviously. She chuckled. “To think such a simple question can keep your sweet, beloved husband quiet.

\- Petyr! Petyr please, tell them!” Her eyes were watery, like a child’s. “Your father would have never let you! His heir was never you, it is…

\- The sick little thing you call a son?”

 

She laughed cruelly. It was uncalled for, but _Gods did it feel good!_ She had spent her entire life knowing that if her father had his ways, the Lord would always remain this puny sickly thing he named after king Robert. She had spent her entire life knowing that even if he died, he would find some other man to name his heir. She never loved the boy. Never even liked him.

She had waited for so many years, fought for so many months to reach this castle. All of this was hers – and this very moment was her triumph. She tasted blood in her mouth and if she could not draw some, she would at least _hurt_ as much as she could those who tried to strip her from what was hers _by birth and by the Gods’ laws._

 

“My father was too wise a man to ever consider to name your spoiled, whiny and stunted excuse of a boy his heir.” She crossed her arms on her chest to stop her hands from shaking. Her voice sounded feverish. “He was so wise that his last decision was to send him away from you, in the hope that he would grow to actually become a man. But you took him away, did you not?” She looked around her, looking at all the men around her. “Where is he, now? Where is the _heir_ of my father?

\- He… He is sleeping, he is… Delicate and he cannot…

\- Is there anything he can do?” There were chuckles around her, low and mocking. “You were supposed to protect these lands you call his own, but you sold them away. You would have rendered them to the Lannisters. Who is the traitress here, Lady Lysa?

\- They killed your father! That is what we always said, is it not right, Petyr? Tell them!”

 

 _What we always said._ She frowned, but her mind was too cloudy for her to be able to think that through. Her goodmother refused to leave the High Hall and struggled against the soldiers who kept her away from her husband. _Let her see what happens to those who wrong me, then._ She turned away from her and returned to Baelish who had remained deathly silent. She tilted her head as she detailed him, engraving his traits in her memory the way she did with Stannis Baratheon. She wanted to remember everything about him, so that she could spread the word.

He was no longer struggling against the guards. He seemed to have accepted his fate. _Oh but he is mistaken about it,_ she thought. Did he think she would just bring him back to Tywin Lannister, like an obedient lapdog? _My Lord, I am a Lion too._ There would not be any journey back to King’s Landing. There would not be any trial. Just another fall – this one from higher. The last one.

 

“Soldiers,” she ordered high and clear. “Open the Moon Door.

\- No!” Lysa screamed again. “Nooooooo!

\- Silence her before I do.” She did not turn, she kept on staring at Petyr Baelish who was slowly realizing just how far she was going to go. “You chose the wrong person to anger, Petyr Baelish.

\- This is all a show,” he smirked. It was too weak. Unconvinced. “You have to bring me back to King’s Landing. This is not a decision for you to take.

\- Is it not? I suppose you will never know.”

 

A violent draft of wind entered the High Hall when the doors banged open. The guards and soldiers cautiously stepped away, leaving the path clear for Petyr Baelish to _fly._ She turned her head to the doors. It was pitch black outside, and only the torches inside the High Hall allowed them to see heavy flakes of snow lazily falling from the sky. There was nothing else behind these doors. Nothing but an endless void.

She could still hear Lysa screaming against the gag they had placed in her mouth, muffled shrieks she could now ignore, but otherwise the hall was completely bathed in silence. All eyes were on her, but no one dared speak. Not a voice rose, no one tried to defend him. They had stared, blankly, as she silently ordered the men who held Baelish to take him to the door.

From the corner of her eye she could see Jaime staring at her as well, his face unreadable. She looked back, and he did not look away. His eyes meant a lot of things at once, they said just as many things. _Do not do this. Do this._ Wondering if she was turning mad, if she had always been. _Be merciful. Do not be._ Scared, and impressed. And worried. And angry. She turned away before staring at him emptied her of her _righteous and satisfying_ anger.

Baelish was now struggling again, trying not to get any closer to the door. She stood where he stood, a step away from the void. It was a fascinating sight – the most beautiful sight in the world. If she could throw all those who wronged her to the void, _make them all fly_ , everything would be easier. If they could _all fly_ , if she could _make them all fly…_ She smirked to herself. _Make them fly. Make them all fly._

 

“Shara, _please_ ,” she heard him beg. _Gods, yes, beg._ “Please, you have to understand, you would have done the same thing.

\- This is where you err, _Petyr._ ” She looked at him again. “I would never have done the same thing. I would have never turned someone against you, hoping that it would destroy you. I would have destroyed you myself.

\- I admit, I did underestimate you, but we can work together now. It does not have to be this way, you can still oust the Lannisters…

\- Of course we can. _I can_ ,” she giggled, almost maniacally. “But do I want to? No. The Lannisters have made me more powerful than you have ever been, and now the weapon has changed hands.

\- Shara, I know things… a lot of things, things you ignore, if you could just…”

 

She ordered three of the men to go away, so that only two remained – one by arm. And her. She no longer heard the silence of the room, and Lysa’s muffled screams. All she heard was the blood throbbing at her ears, the beatings of her heart and a persistent voice in her head ordering her to _do it! Do it! Make him fly! Make them all fly!_

The guards made one last step, and Petyr Baelish’s feet touched the edge of the castle. He gasped and struggled even more, but every move he made got him closer to the emptiness in front of him. She did the same step. The wind was strong, cold and violent here. Just as strong, cold and violent as she felt.

 

“Your last mistake was to underestimate me,” she said distantly. “But your first was to let Tywin Lannister take me out of my prison. You should have known… You should have known I would have my vengeance.

\- Shara, _please_ , I… _I beg of you,_ please, do not…

\- Enjoy the flying, _my Lord._ ”

 

The soldiers hesitated, but she acted before they did. She pushed Petyr Baelish’s back, hard enough to unsettle their grip. Time slowed down, as Littlefinger staggered, made a step forward, _screamed_ and disappeared, engulfed by the night. She heard his screaming die down as he flied down the mountains, and when she closed her eyes she _saw_ his body hitting the stones underneath, mangled and disfigured, bloody and wretched. She smiled wider than she should have and stepped away from the door when the soldiers quickly closed it.

She slowly turned her back on the Moon Door and faced the deadly silent room. Her goodmother had fallen unconscious on her floor, looking like an old ragdoll on the white marble of the High Hall. The guards around her seemed not to know what to do with her and stared at Shara, hoping for an answer – maybe _fearing_ the answer.

 

“Do you renounce your allegiance to the late so-called Lord Regent?” she asked, her voice husky. “Will you return to the king’s peace? To _my_ peace?” _Yes my Lady,_ she heard as an answer. “Bend the knee before your only rightful Lady.”

 

Surprisingly enough, her soldiers were not the first to drop on their knees – the castle guards were. Not all of them, at first, but when those who remained standing realized they were surrounded by their kneeling fellows, they also fell on their knees. Her soldiers followed suit and soon enough the entire room was down on their knees, looking at the ground. She could not help smiling as she looked around her and only saw _kneeling men._ Her hands were still shaking but she never felt this much _raw power_ before.

 _I could make them all fly,_ she thought. _And no one would stop me._ Her eyes eventually fell on the Corbray brothers who were also kneeling, trying their best not to attract her attention. Too bad she never forgot they stood there. She stared at them both and suddenly her anger awakened. _House Corbray has to go._ One way or the other, it had to go. Heart’s Home could go to another house, but this one? This one had to pay the high price.

 

“Lord Lyonel, Ser Lucas Corbray,” she spoke. “You knelt very quickly for men who wholeheartedly supported Petyr Baelish. Is there anything you want to say in your defence?

\- My Lady… My Lady, we were misled, we did not realize…

\- Your brother Lyn does not share this point of view.” She made a few steps toward them. “Who is lying? Him, or you two? Be careful, my Lords, there might consequences to any answer you might find.

\- My Lady… We…” Lyonel was looking at his brother, panic in his eyes. “We are willing to do anything, everything you might us to do to prove ourselves to…

\- Anything? Everything?”

 

She smirked. Lucas Corbray shivered and looked at his brother, now properly terrified. She looked around her, looked at the Moon Door. _It would be so easy to push them both._ So easy to make them fly. She wanted them gone, did she not? This was the surest way. It was only natural, for these stupid men to follow the Lord they had chosen for themselves, was it not?

She was still staring at the door when she heard steps next to her. She turned her head and saw Jaime standing next to her. He had never knelt, of course, but she had… Stopped seeing him, somehow. His eyes were dark now, and inquisitive. _Do not do that. Stop._ She frowned. She did not want to stop. She wanted to do it. _Make them fly,_ a whisper in her head softly meant. _Make them all fly._

But his eyes never left her, and she did not manage to look away. And as she stared into these green eyes of his, she gradually left her senses coming back to her. She ran a still trembling hand across her face and closed her eyes. _I could make them all fly,_ she thought. _But I will not._ She had come so far, so high to do a massacre. She gulped and slowly nodded. When she opened her eyes again, Jaime seemed to have slightly relaxed.

 

“Guards,” she called. Her voice sounded weaker now, much like she felt. “Put my two very obliging bannermen into cells for the night. Add… These men.

\- Into… Sky cells, my Lady?

\- I do not believe we have any other kind of cell in this castle.” She looked at Lyonel again. “Perhaps this will give you pause, to think about the future of your house. You have committed two treasons in less then twenty years, have you not?

\- We…” Lyonel’s shoulders slumped. “We did, my Lady.

\- Once was too many already. My father’s mercy was always misguided.”

 

She gestured the guards to seize them and take them all to cells. Baelish’s other men were taken as well, and none resisted. She gestured those who were still kneeling to stand and took a deep, yet discreet breath. As she was starting to think straight again, she was also starting to feel weak as well. Her entire body was starting to hurt again and it would not be long before it would become unbearable – again.

She turned to Lady Lysa, still lying on the ground, and ordered other guards to take her to her room and put her on her bed. _Remain at her door. Make sure she does not try anything stupid._ She asked for two men to guard her goodbrother’s door as well and the High Hall gradually started to empty. But every eye was still on her. _No weakness. You have shown them what happens when they disregard you,_ she ordered herself. _You cannot show any sign of weakness._ She walked to Bryant, who bended the knee again as she approached. She smiled and ordered him to stand.

 

“I apologize that I have to ask you that, soldier,” she said. “But I need you and half of our men to climb down the mountains to spread the news.

\- Anything for you, m’Lady.

\- Should you encounter any kind of resistance, you have every right to tame it by any mean you consider necessary. I want Lord Nestor Royce to be freed and sent here immediately.” He nodded, gravely. “Once in the Gates of the Moon, you and two or three of your men will head straight to the Bloody Gate and ask for Lord Yohn Royce on my behalf.” She started to feel dizzy, but forced herself to remain still. “I want him and the rest of the former Lords and Ladies Declarant to come here at once.

\- Of course, m’Lady. We won’t return without them all,” he replied. She smiled weakly. “Are you alright, m’Lady?

\- Quite, Bryant. Quite. You are most loyal, and I am most thankful.”

 

He bowed and turned away to select those of the soldiers who would follow him down again. She walked away and headed for the corridor, but her dizziness was making her head spin and her legs felt weak. She was starting to feel nauseous when she felt an arm surrounding her shoulders and a hand taking hers with authority. _“Take my arm,”_ Jaime ordered. “ _Make it look like we are just talking.”_ She barely heard him, but she obeyed. She grabbed his arm and followed him away from the High Hall that was gradually emptying as the soldiers returned to the undercellar to begin their journey back to the waycastles, while the rest of them dispersed in the castle to make sure no one inside was doing anything stupid.

She was _clinging_ unto his arm more than anything, but she managed to direct him through the many doors, corridors, flights of stairs until they reach the Moon Tower – the Lord’s tower. It was completely silent here, and completely empty as well. She felt her legs giving way under her and would have collapsed on the floor had Jaime not kept her on her feet.

 

“The room is just a few stairs up now,” she winced as she struggled to walk. “I just need to sit for a while.

\- Believe me when I say that you _will_ sit for a while. Let me hold…

\- No.” She frowned and pushed his arm away when he tried to lift her. “You will not.

 _\- Seven Hells,_ there is no one here to see anything!

\- I am _not_ on the verge of death.”

 

She glared at him and winced as she started to climb the last flight of stairs that led to the penultimate floor of the southernmost of the seven towers of the Eyrie – the one that overlooked the valley. Lord Jon Arryn had his apartments there, as well as his son after him. She, on the other hand, had settled there during their very few stays here for convenience. It was easier for the servants to take care of one tower than of two, or three. With House Arryn reduced to one branch, the castle was very empty and very quiet. Even Alyssa’s Tears could not be heard – _it must be frozen already,_ she thought as they reached the landing. She gestured one particular room and he opened the door for her.

A maid was there, preparing the bed and lighting candles. She jumped and fell on her knees when she recognized the intruders. Shara waived her away and, as soon as she was gone, collapse on the bed, moaning in pain. _How can I feel so weak and powerless now,_ she thought, _when I felt so powerful minutes ago?_ If Jaime had not interfered, it would have lasted so much longer! If she had made them fly, maybe the pain would not have returned.

 

“You should sleep, Shara,” he said, visibly worried. “You are awfully pale.

\- When am I not?

\- I am not jesting. Who is the maester of this place?

\- Colemon.” She winced when she tried to turn to look at him. “My father’s.

\- I am seeking him.

\- Jaime, wait.”

 

He stopped in the middle of the room and looked at her. She was lying on the bed, curled up on herself and trying to ignore the dizziness that was gradually swallowing her whole. _I am losing consciousness,_ she realized. _Or maybe I am falling asleep._ She tried to say something, but nothing came out. She closed her eyes and opened them weakly.

 

“Maester Rubben wanted me to tell you,” she whispered, not to be heard but mainly because she felt weaker and weaker with every word. “But I knew you would refuse to help me.

\- So it is true, then. You are…

\- Do not say it.” She frowned. “So long as he does not know, I am not.

\- I think your body would beg to differ.

\- Ha, well,” she scoffed painfully. “I suppose my body is also a traitor.”

 

Jaime said something and she nodded, without understand what he just told her. The door closed and so did her eyes. Her dizziness turned to exhaustion and she felt herself drifting away – far away, out of touch. _I should have made them all fly,_ was her last thought before she drowned in darkness.


	30. Come fire or flood...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for the delay, I've had a busy week (didn't we all?) and completely forgot that today was Sunday haha
> 
> I hope these holidays treat you well, and since I won't update again this year (and decade), I wish you all a happy new year!

The maid did not seem to know exactly why Maester Colemon ordered her to remain with her all day, but she took her mission very seriously. The dresses she had brought for her to put on _proper clothes_ were luxurious, clean and pristine – but not new, as her maid warned. Shara guessed they probably used to be her goodmother’s dresses, back when she was still young and not yet puffed up. She did not remember much of her _before_ she turned into this bitter, both crazed and cowardly woman, though, and she especially had no recollection of her wearing these dresses. They were made of cream, blue and silver velvet, especially one of them who had the three colours at once. All of them were winter dresses, of course, and the maid had taken a heavy fur cape with them, entirely made of ermine.

When she put them on, however, she understood that they could not possibly have belonged to her goodmother. Shara was taller than she was, and the dress was almost too long for her. It was tight around the stomach, which made sense in a terrible, _unforgettable_ way, and the bustier could never have accommodated Lysa’s bust, it was made for someone with only a little breast. She kept these thoughts to herself for the most part of the time, up until the maid began to style her hair.

She was rather old, for a maid – much like the entire household of the Eyrie, she probably had been hired by her Lord father before he and his family left for King’s Landing, leaving the castle understaffed and unoccupied for years. She seemed particularly enthusiast to be able to take care of someone as young as her new Lady, and kept a rather gentle smile on her lips as she carefully combed away any remaining trace of her black dye. _She must know where the dress comes from,_ she mused after a while.

 

“Whose dress is that?” she eventually asked. “It is quite surely not one of my goodmother’s, it would not fit me this well.

\- My Lady is right, it doesn’t belong to your Lady goodmother.” Her smile looked a bit tenser, as if she had just mentioned something she should not have. “I found it an old dresser, but we always took care of everything that belongs to your very noble house so it doesn’t show.

\- You must know whom it belonged to, otherwise you would not have given it to me lest it belongs to someone who would refuse to lend it to me.

\- I… I suppose there is no harm in telling you,” she stammered. “It belonged to your Lady mother, my Lady, but she never wore it.”

 

She kept quiet for a long time. _She never had the time to,_ was what the maid did not dare to add. It was a winter coat. She was born at the earliest days of a two-year long winter – and her mother died the same day. She was probably supposed to wear it after her daughter’s birth, as winter was coming nearer and nearer. She stared at herself in the mirror, at the dress she wore.

She should have known, it made sense now. It was all Arryn colours, nothing more, nothing less. Only someone born as an Arryn would wear this kind of dress. Her goodmother always added something Tully to her clothes – some deep, navy blue, or some red. She would soon stop wearing all Lannister colours at once. But her mother was an Arryn by birth, before she was an Arryn by marriage. Her colours remained the same. _Except when red stained the picture,_ she thought. _And ended her life._

 

“Have you known her?” she asked, feigning disinterest. “My Lady mother?

\- A little bit, my Lady. She was the daughter of a cousin of your father, so she grew up here.” The maid was carefully avoiding Shara’s stare in the mirror while braiding her hair. “She was very kind and gentle. You look a lot like her, especially your eyes. She had very clear, very light eyes like you have.

\- What was she like, exactly? Did she travel? Did she read? Was she a good singer?

\- I’m afraid I didn’t know her well enough, my Lady. I can’t say.”

 

 _Just as if Rowena Arryn never existed._ She closed her eyes for a second, refraining from touching her belly. She was still hurting, her back and her stomach especially, and it also brought her back to the same fear. Her mother had existed, she had left traces of her life here – this dress was one. But no one seemed to remember her. She was just a ghost, forgotten of all, remembered as _king and gentle_ , with only her eyes as a striking memory. Was that the fate that awaited her, if the weakness who took her then took her daughter too? _Shara Arryn had very clear, very light eyes. But I didn’t know her well enough, I can’t say who she really was._ Perhaps her mother was just as ambitious as she was. Perhaps she was the reason why she wanted the world and then some – but no one could tell. No one remembered.

 _Jaime would remember,_ she thought. He would know who she was – who she pretended to be, and who she really was. He would be able to tell the world. He would remember. Tywin too, in a way, but would he even care to pass her memory on? A dead woman tells no tale, and there is tale worth telling about a dead wife. Her father probably thought the same. He never mentioned his second wife, not more than he ever spoke about his first. The both of them turned into forgotten ghost as soon as they died.

 

“Were you there, when she died?

\- I was, my Lady. It was a very sad day, and a very joyful too because you were born.” She had a small smile on her lips, happy and yet stricken with sadness. “I remember you then. It’s hard to believe that you’ve grown so much.

\- I suppose it is,” she said. She did not care about the blabbering of an old woman. “Was my father saddened?

\- He was, of course. He liked your Lady mother, always showed her respect and affection.”

 

 _He did not love her, of course._ Of course he was saddened – another of his wives had died in childbed, though this time the child had survived. But he was not sad enough for this old maid to be able to describe it, or to remember anything worth telling her. He probably was sadder when he learned about Rickard Stark’s death, or about his daughter’s in the Tower of Joy. She thought about Tywin, for a second, about the things they said about Lady Joanna. They say his smiles were for her, and her only – and that they died when she did. If Tywin Lannister had ever been able to love someone, this ability too had died with her.

And if she died, _of course he would be saddened_ , or so he would pretend. He would probably be sadder if the child she was bearing died with her, ending all hopes he had of having another heir, more worthy of his legacy than his older children. But he would not care. He would not _cry. Nobody would cry. Nobody would even notice._ This thought brought a cruel smile on her lips. That was the result of the life she was living; no one would regret her death, no one would cry over her body. She would turn into a forgotten, unnoticed ghost.

This thought haunted her the rest of the day, as she slowly got ready for her meeting with the Lords and Ladies Declarant. As the pain her body irradiated did not subside, the looming fear of death that should have haunted her during her entire journey to the Eyrie never left her as she tried jewels and headdress. For the first time in months she was _expected_ to wear colours that she had been denied for so long, and she found herself unable to know what to choose between a dark sapphire necklace and a lighter, but colder, aquamarine one. She eventually chose the sapphires, for contrast purpose – most of what she was wearing was light, and the aquamarines could barely be seen on her neck.

The sun had been declining for a hour already when loud voices, rough-and-tumble echoed in the otherwise completely silent castle; the armies had arrived, at least the soldiers the Lords and Ladies Declarant had taken with them. She dismissed the maid, pretending she needed some time alone to concentrate, and let out a sigh once alone. The old woman had rouged her cheeks, just enough for her to look a bit less exhausted, and she had taken great cares in her choice of cosmetics. She looked colder than she did in King’s Landing, because of the colours of course, but she looked like herself again. No trace of black dye in her hair left, no dark circles under her eyes. Shara Arryn, born anew.

 _And hiding terrible things under a heavy dress and a rather terrific amount of blusher._ She stared at herself, gradually silencing her lingering doubts and fears. She had been terrible the night before, and she needed to be terrible again. Afterward… She could rest. None of them would blame her for that. She rose from her seat once her mind quiet enough and she slowly made her way toward the High Hall. Her dress was heavy, and though it included no tight corset, it still pressed on her ribs and stomach in a rather painful way. _Just what I need,_ she thought bitterly. _More pain._ She was wearing an intricate tiara set with blue topazes, small enough not to look too much like a crown, but enough to remind them that she could as well be wearing one.

When she entered the hall, a deep silence welcomed her. She walked past the standing soldiers who surrounded the great table that had been installed in the middle of the room, underneath the throne and saw every Lord and Lady seating there rise from their seat to bow and curtsy. She let them, up until the reached the throne. There was no seat on this end of the table, just the weirwood throne. _I get to sit there,_ she mused. _I am expected to._ She climbed on the dais and, as she turned to sit, gesture the entire room to ease their posture. The soldiers relaxed and the Lords and Ladies sat back. _No, not yet._ She remained on her feet as she looked around the room. Jaime was standing nearby, on her side of the room, with the Lannister men wearing their colours again.

 

“My most noble Lords and Ladies,” she declared, smiling as she spoke. “My most loyal soldiers. It is an unsayable honour for me to welcome you here, in our mountains, within these walls that we can again call our own. The journey has been long and trying for us all, but I am proud to say that here we are, despite the odds.

\- Hear, hear!” A few soldiers cried out.

\- Words are not enough to express my gratefulness.” She turned her head and nodded at the soldiers. They were smiling, obviously not all of them – but many. “My gamble could have cost both my and Ser Jaime’s life if not for your unwavering loyalty. This victory is not just mine to celebrate, it is yours as well.”

 

Cheers echoed under the hall, mostly coming from the hundred of soldiers who escorted her to the Eyrie in the first place. The rest of the men gathered her had just arrived, and probably knew close to nothing about what really happened there. She caressed the armrests of the throne for a second and turned her head toward the table where the Lords and Ladies were sitting. She had no such thing to tell them. They were here because they had been clever enough to know that standing _against_ her was more dangerous than bending the knee. Some of them probably hoped to be able to vanish if the tide turned. _I have no such gratefulness for you,_ she thought bitterly. She let none of that show.

 

“Lord Yohn Royce,” she called. He rose from his seat, on the other side of the table. “You have kept the secret I asked you to keep, and thus protected me from afar. This shall not be forgotten.

\- It was my duty, my Lady.” He bent his neck respectfully – and with a hint of worry in his eyes. “And my honour.

\- Each of you played a role in this victory as well. By remembering your one and only allegiance, you have both ensured the Vale’s return to its true liege and preserved your house.”

 

Some of them glanced at each other, stunned by the end of her sentence. She remained unreadable, a quiet and soft smile on her lips as she looked down at all of them. She would need them still, to ensure every undeclared Lords and Ladies remembered their allegiance – and regretted not to have remembered it too, when it was the time. Yohn Royce sat again as she turned her head toward his kin – however far-removed enough for her not to know how exactly they were related.

Nestor Royce had been given a rather menial seat but he was there, sitting between two lesser Lords. She gestured him to rise as well. He looked exhausted and famished, but he was smiling. _Ever loyal, dependable Nestor Royce._ He had been waiting for a long time to be granted the title of Keeper of the Gates of the Moon in an official, hereditary way – and it was long overdue. She smiled warmly and raised her voice again.

 

“Lord Nestor Royce. Your uppermost honour and loyalty brought you misery in the cell Petyr Baelish threw you into, but House Arryn knows when to reward those who serve it the best. For all the years you served under my father’s lordship and for all the suffering it brought you, I name you Keeper of the Gates of the Moon again and allow you to pass this title to your children, so that they in turn can pass it to theirs. Let it be known that none else than you shall hold this title as long as your house endures.

\- My Lady.” He fell on his knee and almost disappeared behind his neighbour and under the table. “You honour me.

\- I do indeed, but your loyalty has honoured House Arryn for many years. If you so desire, I wish you to remain High Steward of the Vale, to rule in my name when I remain in court.

\- If your Ladyship deems me worthy of such position, then I shall assume it to the best of my capacities.”

She nodded and gestured him to sit again. He did not do it immediately, he took his time for everyone to see just how long he remained on his knees. She patiently waited for him to regain his seat before she made one step back. When she felt the throne against the back of her leg, she slowly sat down as well, trying not to show how _overwhelming_ it felt. She put both of her arm on the armchair and took a deep breath. She turned her head to share a glance with Jaime. He just nodded, in a barely visible way, with a barely visible smile on his lips. She turned her eyes away a second later. _You should see me in my dreams,_ she thought. _When I am sitting not on a throne of wood but on a throne of iron._

They said the iron throne was terribly painful to sit on – that Aegon the First had made it this way, so that no one ever forgot that power is not a comfortable thing to have. No king could ever lean back either, because _a king should never sit easy._ This throne was not that uncomfortable. The wood was hard, of course, but it had been polished with time. _Still, I wonder if it is truly so uncomfortable._

She was going to speak again when she saw Lord Benedar Belmore rising from his seat at his turn. She tilted her head while he bowed – or tried to. The man was getting fatter and fatter every time she saw him. Winter would do him some good.

 

“My Lady,” he began, looking down. “There is one matter that preoccupies all of us, that of House Corbray.

\- What about it, Lord Belmore?

\- Ser Lyn is still imprisoned in the Bloody Gate, and we have been told that you have ordered his two brothers to be locked in the sky cells as well. As House Corbray is a most ancient house of our lands, we are…

\- Do you speak on behalf of the Lords and Ladies here,” she interrupted him, frowning. “Or on yours exclusively?

\- As I said, it preoccupies…

\- This is no answer.”

 

She stared at him. The old and fat Lord Belmore wanted Heart’s Home, that much was clear. The way Lord Hunter glared at him seemed to indicate that he also wished to claim it. Both Strongsong and Longbow Hall were close to the ancient seat of House Corbray, so their wish was not completely senseless. She had really thought about it yet, though, but the fact that they were now silently fighting over it like starved dogs over a piece of meat was not going to play in their favour.

Heart’s Home was nothing much. It was just a small castle, surrounded by a very small town. The only profit anyone would find there was the access to the river that flowed directly into the Narrow Sea, but both Strongsong and Longbow Hall had access to either the river or the Narrow Sea itself. The stream was probably freezing as they were speaking. It was just a matter of pride, a man trying to gain the upper hand on the other.

 

“Another question, if you can answer this one,” she continued, her voice colder than before. “Does this matter _preoccupy_ you because House Corbray has betrayed its liege and the Vale twice, or because you see it as an opportunity to claim Heart’s Home?

\- My Lady, I would not dare assume what you would do with Heart’s Home. I simply…

\- Keep on not daring, Lord Belmore, lest you forget greed is a sin.” She turned her eyes to look at Lord Gilwood Hunter. He was looking down as well. “Guards. Can you please bring Lord Lyonel and Ser Lucas Corbray here? They should know how ravenous my bannermen are for their lands.”

 

Lord Belmore slowly sat down on his seat, realizing that he had just lost all hope he had of securing Heart’s Home for his house. Lord Hunter did not look any happier with the turn the evening was taking and kept silent too. They all waited for a few minutes, until both men were brought. They were kept in place by guards, but Shara suspected that they did not need to be guarded – they had spent a full day in the sky cells, being _inside_ was probably a blessing more than it was a curse. The blueish hue their skin had taken, as well as the way their breath was hasty and chattering, seemed to indicate that much.

They truly looked pitiful, and yet she could not get to pity them. If anything, their sight revived the anger that had driven her the night before. She was too painful, too exhausted and too worried to feel just as _enraged_ as she felt then, but still a flame of hatred lighted in her mind. If not for their kind, none of that would have been necessary. The pain. The haunting thought that she might die in the weeks to come. _Fighting_ and _waging war_ to return to her home. She refrained from holding unto the armrest and asked the guards to bring them closer to the table.

 

“Lord Corbray,” she quietly said. “Ser Corbray. Has your day been enlightening?

\- My Lady.” Lord Lyonel fell on his knees alongside his brother. He could barely speak – his teeth were literally chattering. “My Lady, we beg for your forgiveness, and if Lyn were here he would too. Your father… Your Lord father was always merciful and we know it is more than we deserve, but we beg you, please, to…

\- If it is more than you deserve, why should I give it to you? Because my Lord father once did?” She paused as she stared at them, on the ground, shivering and still whimpering, _begging_ for their lives. “It was not his wisest decision to forgive your house, was it?

\- Lord Baelish misled us, my Lady, if not for his lies we would have never betrayed House Arryn. We will forever remain indebted, forever remain at your service. Never again shall we be led astray by anyone, we swear!”

There was despair in his voice, panic and _fear_ , a _raw kind of fear_ she had rarely ever witnessed. They said the sky cells had this effect on people. That the absence of one wall, and the ever-so-slightly inclined floor did that to people. Some dreamt they rolled and fell in the void underneath – some did. She remembered the four, dark walls of her cell and she remembered how she went through all three of these things. _Panic, fear, despair._ And acceptance. _Never again,_ she thought, _shall I accept anything like that._ She kept silent for a while, and turned her eyes on the table of noblemen and noblewomen.

All of them remained very quiet. They had no interest in raising their voice for House Corbray – voicing any strong opinion _for_ them would make their allegiance doubtful. Voicing any strong opinion _against_ them, after Lord Belmore’s demand, would make them sound greedy. In both cases they would lose something, either their head or their dignity. _Let us see that._

 

“Well, my Lords and Ladies, I ask for your advice. House Corbray has twice betrayed its liege, plotted against House Arryn and refused to return to His majesty’s peace when it was asked to. It schemed to help Petyr Baelish get his hand on the Eyrie and hopefully benefit from it. What should be the price it pays for its betrayal?

\- Mercy, my Lords!” Lord Lyonel cried. “I beg you, mercy!

\- Lord Yohn?

\- I…” Yohn Royce looked uncomfortable, shifted his weight on his seat. “My Lady has already rightly punished the one true traitor. With winter at our doors, peace is warranted. Mercy brings peace.

\- Lady Anya?

\- My Lady has always taken righteous decisions. Lord Lyonel and his house have betrayed you indeed, and it cannot be disregarded,” she very carefully said, glancing at both men. “But I believe Lord Royce is right when he says mercy grants peace.”

 

 _They think I am going to make them fly._ When they said _mercy_ , they meant _life_. She refrained from smirking and turned her eyes on the Corbrays again. They were staring at the ground, shaking now out of fear and no longer out of cold. _Pitiful. Ludicrous._ Grown up men twisting and turning on the cold ground, begging for their worthless lives like common thieves. She only looked away to look at Jaime. He was staring coldly at them, probably sharing her disgust. When he realized she was looking, he eyed her back and nodded. _Life. Mercy._

 _I do not want to be merciful._ What good would mercy do, if she were to die and turn into another ghost? _Shara Lannister, once merciful to men who betrayed her._ Once merciful to men who killed her. She closed her eyes for a second, shrugging off the nagging pain that washed over her entire body and the haunting thought that came with it. _I do not want to be merciful,_ she thought. _And I do not have to._

 

“I understand that my Lords and Ladies wish not to see one their own perish tonight,” she said slowly, keeping her eyes closed for now. “For it is what I hear, when I hear your calls for mercy. House Corbray is a very ancient house and history ties it very closely to my ancestors. More than once its loyalty has ensured decisive victories for both the Vale and House Arryn.” She opened her eyes and stared right at Lyonel Corbray. He stared back, this time. “But it is now clear that its descendants have lost the meaning of this loyalty.

\- My Lady, we are…

\- You will remain silent, Lord Lyonel, until I allow you to speak.” A pause. Heavy. “I wish not to displease my Lords and Ladies in a night of celebration, and thus I will follow their advice. Only time shall tell us if their mercy was wise or uncalled for. No blood will be shed tonight.”

 

The table took a deep breath and the two brothers looked at each other, unsure of what to think. Some of the Lords were already smiling, but the Corbrays were the wisest here. She was not smiling. She was not warmly granting them her pardon, and welcoming them back into the king’s peace and hers. _Some battles are won with blood and violence._ Some were best waged with quills and parchments. This one was of the latter.

 

“Lady Anya Waynwood, I have heard your opinion and I share it,” she continued, cutting the smiles short. “Betrayal shall not be disregarded, lest the most indecisive of my bannermen might believe they can remain silent on their allegiance. In the name of His majesty the king Tommen of House Baratheon, First of His name, I hereby strip you and your kin from your titles, lands, rights and otherwise benefits you previously owned.

\- My Lady, you cannot…

\- House Corbray is hereby disbanded,” she continued, her voice stronger. “Any and all of its possessions shall be seized, including Heart’s Home. All former members of the house shall be exiled to never return.

 _\- Please_ , my Lady, _have mercy for our family!_

\- You do not realize that this is more mercy than you are worth,” she hissed. “Guards. Take them back to their cell. They shall depart for the Riverlands tomorrow.”

 

As the guards indeed grabbed them and pulled them away, ignoring their desperate cries for _mercy, mercy_ , half of the table rose from their seat, staring at the two brothers vanishing behind the doors. She remained seated, her eyes fixed on the table. Those who had not moved kept their eyes low, sensing that they had made the most sensible choice – those who were standing only slowly turned their eyes back on her. She kept silent for a while. Some of them silently sat back. Some remained on their feet, defiant yet scared by their own action.

 

“Let it be known”, she quietly said. “That this is as much mercy as betrayal deserves in the eye of House Arryn. You will inform your neighbouring Lords and Ladies that this is a warning, for all of them to heed. Will you?

\- Yes, my Lady,” they answered. “We will.

\- If my good Lords and Ladies would sit, I think this calls for _actual_ celebration.”

 

She stared down at those who remained on their feet until, one by one, they regained their seat. When the last of them sat, she clapped her hands and the doors opened on servants holding plates and jugs of wine. Silence immediately lifted and was replaced by a disorganized commotion of voices. She was not fool, though; she knew that Baelish’s fate and well as House Corbray’s were not going to leave her bannermen’s minds before long. _Good,_ she thought. _Let them realize and remember House Arryn will no longer stand for betrayal._

Once the table properly served, she called the guards to take glasses of win as well. Surprised at first, they took the cups they were given with undisguised pleasure. _Keep your enemies close, and your army closer._ She took one, stood up from her throne and smiled.

 

“To His majesty’s peace, long may it last in our lands.

\- Long may it last in our lands!” the table echoed back. The guards followed. Everyone drank and, as she was going to sit again, the soldiers continued. “Long live the Lady Shara!

\- Long live the Lady Shara!”

 

She smiled and nodded at the soldiers who continued to hail her. The Lords and Ladies were less enthusiast, but had to follow suit. She rose her glass with them again and turned her head. Jaime Lannister was rising his as well, as smirk on his lips, mouthing the exact same words. _Long live the Lady Shara._


	31. One last waltz on top of the world...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone!

The evening of celebration became a night, and slowly the night turned into morning. Many Lords and Ladies left soon in the night, frightened by what she had shown them, but most of them remained in the High Hall, drinking and listening to the soldiers’ clumsy music. It all happened like a dream, faster than she knew. She spoke with most of the bannermen who remained, the most noble and most humble alike. All of them apologized for their cowardice and pledged their allegiance to her in more words than necessary. She listened, nodded and accepted the apologies; now that they knew exactly what she considered to be _mercy_ , none of them would dare to tempt fate. Some of the officers of her army came to inform her of who had been locked in the waycastle and who cooperated. Apparently the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon did not even try to stop the armies – _not that it matters,_ the lieutenant immediately added, _but he cooperated._ Meaning that he might not deserve the same fate as those who did not. She thanked them for the information, but refuse to decide what sentence they would receive tonight. She needed council, and she needed to know exactly who they were before she decided who died, who headed straight to the Wall and who was pardoned.

The little she spent on her own during the night was a blessing. The music was not the best she had heard and the food was not the best she ever had, but it was the most peaceful time she got since she left King’s Landing, and probably since the war begun. Nestor Royce eventually came to sit nearby, to thank her again of course but mainly to speak of the Vale’s immediate future. The ever so cautious Nestor Royce was worried that winter would come much earlier than they all thought, and she had to remain him that the Vale’s granaries were filled to the brim for him to accept to relax and speak of lighter subjects. She obviously avoided the most pressing matter – no one needed to know why she had been so eager to get rid of the _Baelish issue_ so fast.

The stars had already disappeared when she looked outside for the first time of the evening. She rose from the throne, catching the entire room’s attention and apologized – _please, do not stop because of me. I simply need rest. Enjoy the night until it ends._ There were not that many people left, and a lot of them had fallen asleep on the tables, the chairs, the grounds and each other. Those who were still awaken bowed as she left the High Hall and headed for her room. She did not feel tired, not really anyway. She felt… She had no idea how she felt. Her mind was mostly empty, as if everything that filled it before had vanished through the night. _Except for the eerily sense of dread that I may die in the weeks to come,_ she thought bitterly, _that has not vanished._

The castle was completely silent as she climbed the stairs until she reached her room’s landing. She stopped by the stairs for a few second, contemplating the night that surrounded her and the few dying candles in the chandelier. She was not entirely certain how much time she had left within these walls. Tywin Lannister would probably summon her back to the capital as soon as he would hear that she was done quelling her rebellion. She could not help regretting that this castle would never be the lively, joyous place she hoped to have one day. It would remain like this, in a stasis, a place where time stopped and waited for its owner’s return. Silent. Cold. Filled with ghosts.

She only realized someone was waiting near her room’s door when she shrugged off these thoughts and headed for it. _Jaime._ After a second of surprise, she remembered she had asked him to wait for her when the celebration was over – and she remembered why. She smiled and gestured him to follow her as she went back to the stairs. The Moon Tower was not just the tower where the Lord of the Eyrie resided, it was also the highest of the Eyrie’s seven towers. It was impossible to climb all the way to the very top of the spire, but it was possible to reach the highest of its floor.

She went there, when she was a little girl and when she needed a place to hide. She always suspected her father and most of the castle to have known exactly where she hid – it took her an eternity to reach the highest floor and she probably was not very discreet. She usually dragged a book with her, to curl up in a corner of the very big and empty room and read in peace, until her father eventually decided that she had to be taken back to the main floors. _I went there during every storm,_ she remembered. _To hear its howls and screams._

There was no storm to witness, and there was no reason to hide – but there was a view. The most beautiful view of the entire realm, or so she liked to believe. She had seen many a beautiful things in her life, and beautiful places as well. The view from her room in King’s Landing with its ships slowly entering and leaving the bay, the view from Winterfell’s highest dungeon and the flakes of snow falling from the grey skies, the sea that surrounded Dragonstone and the way the waves hit the dark stones the island was made of were nothing compared to this view. The sunsets and sunrise everywhere in the world would not compare either. If Jaime and her had to leave, she wanted this view to be the last thing she remembered.

She softly pushed the door open when they reached the last landing. The room was just as empty as she remembered – there was nothing, absolutely nothing here. It was a big, empty place, with windows on every wall and a glass door that led to a big balcony. She had no idea what purpose it was supposed to serve when the Eyrie was built, but her father had given this room absolutely none. Jaime followed her as she headed straight to the balcony and walked outside.

Though there was no storm, the wind was always strong there. It was the top of the world, the realm of both the wind and the gods; it was no place for men and women, and yet the Arryns had built this room and this balcony like an ultimate defiance. And the castle endured the wind and the god’s wrath. _Did we, though?_ House Arryn was a dying house, by all accounts. Only one branch remained, and it was a very fragile one. _A sickly child,_ she thought. _And a woman._ The castle had endured and had remained untouched – the house was withering.

All these thoughts vanished when she looked around. The balcony almost surrounded the tower, and the other towers were lower so there was nothing to block the view. The sky was clear, clearer than it seemed when they were in the High Hall – they were above the clouds. The sun was peeking out behind a series of mountain peaks and its rays were gleaming on the snow, shining on what looked like hundreds, thousands of diamonds hidden in the snow. Looking one they was nothing to see but clouds, like a downy flour just a few feet below.

And it was silent, completely silent, if not for the wind that blew around them and into their clothes and hair. At the top of the world, everything was quiet and dim. Everything the bottom was not – loud and aggressive, was what it was. It took her a long time before she could look away and turn her head to look at Jaime. His eyes were wide open as he stared at the godly world she had just pulled him in. She smiled and kept silent. Nothing she could say could match this. It was too beautiful, too otherworldly, all they could do was witness it. _We do not belong here._ No one did. They were just tolerated, for a time.

 

“Is that the reason why you did everything you did?” he breathed, barely loud enough for his voice to be audible. “This view?

\- I wish it were.” She smiled, sadly. “It would be much nobler, would it not?

\- It gives an entire new meaning to your House’s words. _As high as h_ _onour_ is a gross understatement, if there were any gods in this world we would be able to see them from here.

\- As high as the Gods was not something my ancestors could say, I fear.”

 

They both chuckled. Jaime looked _enthralled_ , completely captivated by his surroundings. The spell worked on her, of course, but it sent her back years in the past. The mountains did not look smaller, the sky did not seem closer. Nothing had changed. She was grown now, but felt just as small as she did when she was but a child. They remained silent again, watching the grey sky turn into a soft blue. Soon enough it would be a blinding blue, bluer than the sea. The sun was sending rays at the marble spear they stood on, at the clouds below, everywhere at once. The world was _white_.

 

“Why would you want to return to King’s Landing when you can have that every day?” He was not expecting an answer – none could be satisfying. “How could your father leave this place willingly, and never return?

\- My father would have given anything out of duty. His castle, his House, his life.” She scoffed. “I suppose he did, in a way.

\- What about you?

\- I often forget what I have, and figure it cannot be enough. Then I remember and regret that I cannot settle for this.”

 

 _Those for whom the world is not enough,_ she mused. _Saints, conquerors, poets._ She was neither of them, but to hold the world in the palm of her hand as she stood above the skies was not enough. It was a blessing and it was a curse, and perhaps one day it would kill her. A part of her wished to remain there, within these walls, to sit on her wooden throne and rule her lands. The tired part. The exhausted part – the part that yearned for peace. As she looked at Jaime, she could not help wondering if a part of him shared this feeling, or if his entire being longed for a life apart from the world. He would not say, of course. Not more than she would.

But this part was small, and powerless. She would grow restless and bored, ambitious and hungry if she remained there. The wooden throne would not be enough very long, and these lands would soon be too small. _The world and then some._ It was all she wanted – everything. Even this view could not compete with _everything._

 

“You never tried,” he objected. “Maybe you could.

\- I would, for a time. I have gone too far and done too much to settle for anything.” He turned his eyes to look at her. “Even for that.

\- This is as high as you will ever go. Higher and you would burn.

\- So be it. I never believed my world could end in ice anyway.”

 

She stared back at him with a smirk. _Ice is what runs in my veins,_ she thought. _And what freezes my heart._ They remained there for a few more minutes, up until the cold and the harsh winds threatened to actually freeze them both. With a last look behind, they returned inside, behind the immense windows so as to be able to keep on looking outside. Without the wind howling in their ear, silence was now perfect as they remained by the door.

She was still staring outside, but she could feel him staring at her again. At her face, her shoulders and her stomach. It lingered there for a while – for too long, until she turned away from him to stand directly in front of a window. The view was not quite as startling from there. It lacked the danger and the exhilaration of standing at the top of the highest man-made tower of the world, at the mercy of every element. It felt _bland_ , especially as Jaime kept on staring. She ignored him, for as long as she could.

 

“Why did you want to show me this now?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence around them. “Why not tomorrow, or the day after?

\- Your father may call us back to King’s Landing at any time. I was not sure I would be able to show this to you now that I have to deal with the aftermath of Baelish’s uprising.

\- You never quite obeyed his orders, at least not instantly. Why begin now?” A smirk grew on his face. “Are you scared that he might get rightfully angry when he understands what you have hidden from him for so long?

\- On the contrary. As long as I am with child, there is nothing he can do against me.”

 

She chuckled, but it sounded wrong. She was right, though – however furious Tywin Lannister could be once he understood that she had travelled all the way across the Vale while pregnant, he would _never_ act on his anger and risk his child’s life. If anything and for the next few months, she would be practically almighty. If the child survived its birth, then she would _be_ almighty. Not that he would stop threatening her every now and then to remind her of who he was, but if she managed to give him the heir he wanted, she would become a queen without the crown and the throne.

 _If I survive._ She refrained from reaching for her stomach. It was still every much flat, but it would not last. It had already started to swell since Maester Rubben told her. None of them knew exactly when the child was conceived, but she had spent a lot of times in the Vale already. Travelling was already dangerous then; it would only get more dangerous with every week she spent in the Eyrie.

 _That_ was the cruel truth. Even if Tywin did not call them back just now, she _had_ to pretend he did so that she could leave the Eyrie, the Vale altogether and return to King’s Landing before travelling became too much of a hazard. She had to do it all _before_ her bannermen understood what was happening to her. _I will leave a note for Nestor Royce, though. I owe him that much._

“Then why do you act as if we had to leave tomorrow? You seemed quite comfortable on that throne of yours.

\- It does suit me, does it not?

\- It certainly does suit you better than the last few king who sat on the iron throne.

\- Come now, Jaime. Is it not a bit early to sully your late royal nephew’s memory?”

 

She looked at him and lost the sarcastic smile that was growing on her lips. _Oh, Gods._ He had lost his as well, and was looking outside the windows. She bit her lips, regretting what she considered as a witty banter. She knew that he had no particular affection for the boy and that the two men hardly knew each other, but she also knew just how true the rumours were. _I still have not told him about Cersei._ She looked away and closed her eyes for a second.

 

“I apologize. This was… Insensitive of me.

\- Why so? He would have been a terrible king, much like he was a terrible person.” He side-glanced at her, suddenly wary. “Your dear Lord husband probably sighed in relief when poison cleared his path to the throne.

\- I care not about the king he would have been or the person he was. I apologize to _you_ ,” she insisted. He frowned, ever so slightly. She looked back at him. “I have kept this secret far longer than the one you willingly shared with me.

\- Ha,” he scoffed, bitterly. “Who should I thank for that? Your father? Ned Stark? Stannis?

\- Dead men need no gratitude.

\- Are you expecting some measure of it?”

He turned to her as she did the same. _No,_ she meant to say. It was not a secret she meant to keep at first. Stannis made it worthless the day he started to spread it around like wildfire. What the entire realm knows is not something worth trading, after all. She found no reason to spread it more either, she just kept the fact that she _knew_ it was _true_ a secret. Tywin probably understood that she did, but she still was not entirely sure he knew himself, or believed it. He was the kind of man to let his pride blind himself to this kind of things.

She tilted her head and shook it. He scoffed again and made a few steps away from the window, toward the centre of the room. Rubbing his jaw, he was looking everywhere and nowhere at once, as if he were searching for something clever to say. When he realized there was nothing he could say about this particular secret, he turned to her again.

 

“You have not answered me, Shara. Why are we here today?

\- I have. Your father…

\- My father has always been a very convenient pretext for you and I am sure certain none of your bannermen will dare question the Lord Hand’s will,” he interrupted her. “But we both know how slowly news travel during winter. He probably has not even learned about the Bloody Gate yet. He will not order you back before weeks, perhaps even months. But we will leave in a few days, will we not?” She did not reply. “Why?

\- I will not be able to travel in weeks or months.

\- Please, Shara, spare me. We have travelled all the way up here, riding horses and mules for hours, and you knew you were with child. The risk did not seem to be much of a concern to you then.

\- I had no other choice,” she bit back. “This is different.”

 

He was staring right at her eyes, the way he did when he saw right through her masks. _How?,_ his eyes meant to say. She closed her eyes and sighed, exhausted. She heard his footsteps echoing on the marble flour as he closed the distance between them and stopped right in front of her. She kept her eyes closed a while, trying to find a way around this conversation – but there was none, of course. She was _scared_ and if Jaime could see right through her most clever lies, there was no way he would see just how terrified she was at this very moment.

She would have given everything to stop the time, to remain in the castle’s stasis just for a few more days, a few weeks, and then return to their true life. Everything that happened at the top of the world remained at the top of the world, after all. Just as Alyssa’s Tears vanished in thin air before it touched the ground. But only the castle remained frozen in time. Only the stones – and despite everything she said, she was not made of stone.

 

“My mother died in childbed,” she eventually said, defeated. “She was healthy and young, but she died in childbed and Maester Rubben fears that I might share her condition.

\- Nonsense. Our mother died while giving birth to Tyrion, and nothing ever happened to Cersei.” She felt his two hands – the real and the golden one, on her shoulder, then on her neck as he cradled her face. She opened her eyes to look at him again. “Shara, is that really it?

\- You call that _it_ , I call that _death_ ,” she retorted. “What I did… It was reckless and I am now paying the price. I do not regret it, it had to be done to salvage my lands, but I must not endanger myself any more.

\- Why not stay here, then?

\- If it comes to that, I will need more than an old maester and one with barely a chain around his neck.” She smirked bitterly. “And your father will not let me stay here alone if he hears about the risks.”

 

Jaime’s eyes darkened and he nodded slowly. _He would never take the risk of losing his long awaited heir because of incompetent maesters._ That was the barely veiled meaning of her sentence. He would rather gather as many maesters as he could around her, even if it meant locking her into a room for as long as the pregnancy lasted. At least with this many maesters, there was a chance that the child survived. As for her…

She smiled sadly and leaned unto his remaining hand. Most women with child had a mother to advise them, friends to surround them, ladies-in-waiting to help her. She had none of that. Instead she had a husband who would choose her unborn child rather than her if he had to choose, and this man, in front of her, whom she could not call a friend. He was the most forbidden man there was, and he was not hers. She chuckled lowly as the thought sunk in.

 

“But then again, if it comes to that, I think we both know what choice your father will make.

\- You are scared that he might let you die,” he said softly. “Shara, if he wanted you dead…

\- This is not a question of wanting me dead or alive. All of this, this journey to the Vale, Stannis’ death, my titles as Warden of the East, everything he traded, he traded for an another heir. If he has to choose between this child and me, whatever interest he has in me will not compare.

\- I will not let him.

\- I do not think you will have any voice in the matter.”

 

And he knew, of course he knew. She put both of her hands on his chest, smiling still. It was a ridiculous thing, really, that he was the only thing she had – and the one thing she could never have, even if she survived. Selfishly, she wanted to believe that it was because of his father, and not because of the former queen she had made sure to get rid of. She still had not told him, and she should be telling him right at this moment, but she could not. She could not care about her, about them, now.

What happened at the top of the world stayed at the top of the world, and they would not remain there very long. As soon as they would reach the bottom of the mountains, things would return to the way they were before. They _had to._ But they were still there, for now, and she could still pretend there was nothing between them _for as long as they remained there._

She found her way into his arms and pressed herself against his chest, eyes shut tight. He surrounded her, held her against him and planted a kiss on the top of her head, in her hair. It was warm, it was comfortable; it was something she never had before. She had had lukewarm embraces, scorching hot embraces, but nothing just _warm_. It struck her, as they both stood in the middle of the room like two unmoving statues, how lonely she had always been.

For a few more hours, a few more days, she did not have to feel lonely. She could linger in these strong arms that held her tighter than any other arms before and pretend she would never be lonely again.

 

 


	32. ... Before everything comes down

“What about Heart’s Home, my Lady? Have you decided what to make of it?”

 

She kept her quill frozen in mid air, sighing. She had _not_ decided what to make of it, because she had no idea what she could do with House Corbray’s former seat. _The late House Corbray,_ she corrected mentally. The two brothers had left the Eyrie the day before. Once their brother out of his cell, they would all go straight to the western border to go wherever they wanted – except in the Vale. Their family would soon join them wherever they went.

Heart’s Home was not an incredible castle. It was ancient, but it was small and impoverished. Given that her bannermen seemed to covet the place, she could not just give it to them. She took a deep breath and put the quill down. She was supposed to be writing a letter to Tywin, to warn him that she was about to leave the Vale now that everything was settled. In the last few days, she had ordered a few executions, some imprisonments for lack of better solution and gathered a few dozens of men to send to the Wall. She was gradually receiving ravens carrying pledges of allegiance from most of her bannermen. Some others had not yet reacted, but she liked to believe their ravens were slowed down by the weather. _We shall take action if nothing arrives at all,_ she had instructed Lord Nestor Royce.

Most of the bannermen who had travelled with her had already left the Eyrie. The weather was growing more threatening and colder with every day that passed – soon enough the path that led to the castle would be blocked by snow and ice. She had already asked the castle’s staff to prepare for their resettlement in the Gates of the Moon and the first of the convoys would leave by the evening. _And I am going with them._ She was taking care of the very last details while her maid took care of her belongings and Bryant picked the most capable of the soldiers. He had accepted to accompany an Arryn to the capital once again, and she wanted a personal guard made of Valemen. _Just to make sure no one forgets who rules the Vale when I am not there._

The main problems were, obviously, her goodmother and goodbrother. She spent her days crying, banging at her door and cursing her name by the Seven Gods, screaming for her dead husband. She planned to send her back to Riverrun, but Tywin did not seem to have abandoned the idea of besieging the castle. She would find a way to convince him otherwise, but in the meantime she needed her to be kept in close watch. As for her brother, well… He was just as weak, sickly and immature as she remembered. She needed some place to send him as a ward. _Ser Kevan Lannister would be a good guardian, if he accepted._ That was another thing she would need to ask Tywin for. Better his brother than the Tyrells again, after all. The war had drastically reduced the number of high houses anyway.

 

“For now,” she eventually said, resuming her letter. “Let us consider that it belongs to House Arryn. I shall find some purpose for the place, but I am afraid I see none at the moment.

\- If I may, my Lady, your brother will surely need a castle for himself when he comes of age.” She raised an eyebrow and looked at Nestor Royce. “Heart’s Home is not a big castle, but that may change.

\- This is a bright idea, my Lord. My brother is an Arryn, he deserves lands for himself.

\- At your service, my Lady.”

 

He bent his neck respectfully. She smiled and finished her missive. _I shall write again once in Saltpans, where a ship should await us._ She signed and sealed the parchment before standing up and heading toward the windows. It had not yet snowed – not really anyway. A few dots of snow had fallen from the sky the last few days, but nothing like the snow that fell in the North, or the snow that fell this high on the mountains during wintertime. It would, though, and sooner than later.

Jaime had left the Eyrie a few days before for Saltpans, to get everything ready for their departure. He had sent a letter to King’s Landing right before leaving, to make one final report to his father. He had her read it, to make sure he was not going to somehow help Lord Tywin Lannister understand that she had been hiding her state for weeks. He was not exactly afraid of what could happen if he understood through him and not through her, but it was wiser not to tempt fate.

 

 _Not that he could be mistaken,_ she mused. She was swelling, for lack of a better word, and the time they would spend on the ship would not help. It was a good thing her goodmother had kept the dresses she used to wear during her pregnancies, because otherwise she would be left without clothes. Overall, it was a good thing that her bannermen had left. No keen eyes could have missed the information. If Nestor Royce knew, though, he let nothing show.

 

“When I am back in King’s Landing, I shall rely upon you to watch over my goodmother and her son until I find some place to send them,” she said while looking down at the waycastles. “Lord Baelish may be gone, but I do not trust Lady Lysa.

\- Of course, my Lady. I shall keep them both under surveillance.

\- With the weather worsening, I am afraid we might have to withstand a growing number of Rivermen refugees coming for shelter and food. We will not be able to welcome and feed them all, but I want our borders to remain open… For now.” She turned to look at him. “The Westerlands will welcome its share, as well as the Stormlands when a new liege is designated.

\- Very well. Where do you want them to go?

\- Anywhere they are needed. We will welcome them, but they will not remain idle.”

 

The food that filled their granaries could not be taken for granted – contrary to the North, they did not have glasshouses to grow food during wintertime, and they were too far north to hope to be able to grow anything once winter really there. If the Vale’s reserves were supposed to feed its population, refugees _and_ part of the realm, then it had to be used wisely. For as long as it was possible, the peasants and fishermen had to continue to work and gather as much food as possible.

 _It never ends,_ she thought bitterly. It could never truly end. Stannis, Baelish, winter, what would happen next? _The dragon queen, maybe._ Wherever she was now, whatever she was doing. She shrugged off this thought for now, this was not something she ought to think about right now. There were still a certain number of things she had to do before she could depart.

 _Jaime was supposed to write as soon as he arrived in Saltpans_. They had not received any raven yet, but perhaps the weather was truly terrible down below. He was supposed to say whether or not there was a ship available there or if she had to wait for a couple of days in the Gates of the Moon before leaving for the harbour. _Perhaps he has written to the Gates directly._ She bit her lips and took a deep breath.

 

“Have we received any raven from Saltpans?

\- Not yet, my Lady.

\- The damned winter is not letting any raven up the mountains,” she hissed. “I suppose we shall see once in the Gates of the Moon. Is everything ready for our departure?

\- If it is not, then it should be very soon.

\- Would you please go oversee the process? As soon as it is possible, make sure my goodmother and brother leave with the first convoy. Have someone sent when I can go down as well.”

 

Nestor Royce rose from his seat, bowed and left the room as she turned back to the windows. When she found herself alone, she let out a deep and long sigh. The pain had subsided, thanks to Maester Rubben’s help. He never really allowed himself a _“I told you so”_ moment, but he did not need to. The way he glared at her the first time he examined her was enough. When she had mentioned that she should maybe return to King’s Landing, he instantly agreed and almost _ordered_ her to do so. He would come with her, of course – she would leave Maester Colemon in the Gates of the Moon for as long as her brother remained there, but he would also come to the capital eventually. He was brash, arrogant and sometimes she wished she could make him fly too, but at least he could be trusted. Grand Maester Pycelle was a whole other thing, and she would _never_ allow his filthy and slimy hands anywhere near her body. The sheer idea was repulsive.

After a while, she started to pack the few things she did not allow her maid to touch. Tywin’s letters, mostly, and those she had received from her bannermen, as well as a few important parchments Nestor Royce had managed to retrieve from his apartments in the Gates of the Moon. A full report on the granaries, for example, as well as the first signs of Rivermen’s arrival in the Vale. She put it all in a locked coffer and put it on top of the chests she was going to leave with. It was mostly filled with dresses and capes, most of them never worn by either her mother or her father’s first wife. It was a waste to keep it here, and she would need them when winter reached King’s Landing.

She took the time to write a note to Nestor Royce, to inform him that she was with child. _Although this shall not remain a secret very long, I ask you to keep this information secret for as long as it has not been made official._ Some of her bannermen would be quick to put two and two together, and understand that she had been pregnant the whole journey, but it would not matter at this point. If anything, it could maybe strengthen her hold on the Vale. _After all,_ she thought as she sealed the letter and put it underneath her over-skirt. _I have the soldiers on my side._

She was almost surprised to welcome one of them by the middle of the afternoon in her room. On Nestor Royce’s order, he had come to inform her that she might take ride the bucket down to Sky whenever she wanted. She thanked him and asked for her luggage to be taken down before she left. He took the chest and the coffer with him and left her alone again in her cold room.

For a second, she thought about returning to the balcony, at the top of the spire, but it was useless. It would be too painful to bid her farewell to this place on her own. _I bid my farewells with Jaime,_ she mused as she slowly walked out of her room and walked down the stairs. When she reached the main level, she was welcomed by every servant of the castle. They were forming a guard of honour, and they all fell on their knees when she appeared. She stopped at the very last stair and watched the Crescent Chamber filled with these people she did not know or did not remember. They would too go down, but not yet – the castle had to be cleaned and closed before they could leave.

As she closed her eyes, for a mere second, she remembered a scene like this, so many years in the past. She was holding her septa’s hand and following her father down the stairs. It was not winter, but they were leaving for King’s Landing. Her father had just been named Hand of the new king, and he had much to do. He had just barely returned from the war, to retrieve his wife and his daughter and immediately leave again. There were more servants back then and they were younger, but they too had fell on their knees as they headed for the buckets. She remembered not looking back at the castle where she had grown up. It was an adventure, back then, to go to the capital and meet the king. She was too young to realize that they would hardly ever return to her home, to the point where this cold and beautiful place would _stop_ being her home.

She was not a child anymore and when she reached the widely opened door of the castle, she turned back to look at the flights of the stairs that led to the seven towers, to the stained-glass windows on the wall, to the servants who had not moved at all. She nodded to them all and they rose again. Some of them were looking down, respectfully. Some were looking away. Some were staring at her, the oldest. She smiled and turned to step outside. The bucket was there, a few feet away from the formal entrance. It was usually used to transport food, but she could not afford the risk of climbing down to Sky. She had ordered her goodmother and brother to be taken by the bucket as well anyway.

 

“My Lady,” Lord Royce greeted her. “Everything is settled. You may leave when you wish.

\- If I could I would remain my whole life, Lord Royce.” She smiled through the lie. “Your diligence is duly appreciated. I trust that my Lady goodmother and my Lord brother have safely arrived?

\- They have. They have began their way to the Gates of the Moon and will be kept under close watch in their apartments.

\- Very well.”

 

She noticed that the oaken bucket had been covered with old carpets, so as to look fancier than it really was. She could not help smiling. It was a kind and sensitive thought, but it could hardly hide that it was not supposed to carry Lords and Ladies. A knight was waiting for her to decide to settle inside, but she was not ready. Not just yet.

She turned back again and she looked up at the castle in front of her. She could not see it whole – it was surrounded by thick, white clouds from the second flour to the top of the spire. _A good thing I did not go there, I would have seen nothing but whiteness all around._ But she could see the white marble, and the blue veins that ran through it. She engraved this picture in her head and smiled to herself. She was old enough to understand that it might be the last time she saw this castle, old enough to understand that she might never travel back to the Eyrie – whether she survived or not. _Farewell, my home._ She felt a single tear running down her face, cupping her cheek and reaching the fur collar of her cape. She closed her eyes and turned away.

As she took the knight’s hand to settle inside the bucket, she saw flakes of snow falling from the sky. Thick, cold, enduring – real snow. She watched it fall lazily as she began her descent to Sky, slowly covering the edge of the bucket and her blue cape. The maid who had come with her regularly brushed it away, but it came back. It took mere minutes before the Eyrie disappeared in the clouds, like a mirage. She did not allow herself any other tear and she looked away – she looked down. Soon enough Sky appeared, as well as most of the valley underneath. They had pierced their way out of the clouds.

Although she only left Sky the following day, once her full escort ready to depart as well as Maester Rubben, it had not stopped snowing. It never stopped, even when they reached the Gates of the Moon where a letter from Saltpans was awaiting her. It had not been written by Jaime, but whoever wrote it confirmed that a ship was ready to depart and take her to King’s Landing at any time. It left her with a bitter taste in her mouth. Jaime was supposed to write – not one of his lieutenant. Why had he not written himself? She replied, though, to warn them that they were coming and probably arriving in a matter of days.

The way from the Gates of the Moon to the Bloody Gate was made more difficult by the snow, but she remained inside her carriage during the full journey. Her maid always kept an eye on her, and Maester Rubben never let her outside for more than a few minutes per day. She could only see the snowy scenery of the valley from the carriage and her room of the Bloody Gate’s window, and she spent most of her evening there staring outside. The evenings were lonely now. Lord Royce had remained in the Gates of the Moon to make sure the Eyrie’s servants’ descent went well. She had given him the letter then, ordering him to only read it once alone.

And Jaime was not there, of course. He never wrote. Whatever castle or small town she encountered had not missive for her – no raven with a parchment bearing the Lannister seal. But indeed many a town dweller to welcome her with a warmth that was nothing short of exaggerated and faked. Maester Rubben eventually admitted that rumours travelled faster than men, and that almost the entirety of the Vale had heard about Petyr Baelish’s demise. _They do not care about him,_ he added, _but they recognize you for who you are, according to the rumours._

Almost half a fortnight was necessary to finally arrive near Saltpans and its sight was a desolate one. The entire town had been burned to the ground and nothing remained but cold ash and charred bones – only the castle remained, in the middle of this awful sight. One single keep, square and heavy, of grey stones. She left the carriage at the entrance of the town, or what used to be its entrance anyway, and made a few steps amongst the debris. _Is that what Duskendale looks like?_ She had heard many tales and descriptions, but if this was even just _a quarter_ of what Duskendale looked like… She gulped and clenched her jaw. This was not her doing, of course, but it felt dangerously close to what she really did.

 

“Lady Shara,” she heard behind her as she was staring at the scorched remains of the town of Saltpans. It was a Lannister soldier, who bowed as soon as she turned to look at him. “We were not expecting you this soon, with the amount of snow on the road.

\- We tried to ride as fast as we possibly could. The weather is not getting any better, is it?

\- No, my Lady. Please, follow me inside the keep, it is warmer inside.”

 

 _Inside the keep?_ She raised an eyebrow and looked at the castle. It was supposed to belong to House Cox, a house of landed knights under the suzerainty of House Tully – for now, anyway. When she enquired about it, the soldier informed her that Ser Quincy Cox had survived, as well as his daughters and grandsons. _He did not help the smallfolk,_ he added. _He ordered the castle gates shut and he did not let anyone in._ He was racked with guilt, though, given how little of his smallfolk actually survived – that is why he accepted to surrender them his only remaining ship and accommodate the Lannister escort and whoever she would arrive with.

He was there to welcome her with bread and salt, a feeble old man who barely dare to look at her. His two daughters and their babes were there as well, looking down. _Impressive what guilt can do to people,_ she thought. They looked defeated, ashamed and broken. _But they did not have any other choice._ Dying would not have saved the smallfolk, not more than it could have prevented the destruction of the town. They just would have died – period. She obviously said nothing of the sort and warmly thanked them for their hospitality. The soldier then showed her in the room she was given for the night. He was going to leave when she called him back.

 

“Is Ser Jaime within the castle?

\- I suppose he is, my Lady. He could be helping with the ship too.

\- Has something happened that I should know of?

\- Ser Jaime mentioned nothing,” he immediately replied. “Is something worrying you?

\- No, of course not. Can you please search for him, and tell him to come here?”

 

He nodded and stormed out of the room, leaving her alone with her maid poking the fire that was already burning in hearth. She got rid of her cape and sat by the dressing table to begin to write the letter she was supposed to send to Tywin, but she could not help her mind wandering. Jaime was supposed to be awaiting her, not _avoiding_ her. _Then again, they were not expecting us so soon, so he might be just overseeing the ship’s preparation._ She tried to shrug off the thought, but it kept on coming back as she wrote. She mentioned the weather and warned him that it might slow down their ship – she also mentioned the imminent movement of smallfolk toward the south. _As I am getting ready for a trying journey to King’s Landing, I believe King’s Landing should get ready for a trying time when snow covers the Red Keep and ice freezes the bay of the Blackwater._

Her maid had just finished untying her hair when someone knocked at the door. She immediately looked up from her letter, as if stung, but composed herself again before allowing the newcomer in. It was Jaime, of course. He bowed and looked at the maid. She curtsied and eyed her until she allowed her to leave the room. She turned away from the mirror and the letter to look at Jaime and gesture him to take a seat. He did not make a move, he remained in the middle of the room.

The bad feeling she had felt for the entire journey was slowly turning into a foreboding certainty. _Something has happened,_ she thought. She also rose from her seat and made a few step toward him. A few snowflakes were clinging unto his hair and his shoulders were wet now that the snow had melted. But his eyes – his eyes were cold as ice, colder than anything she had ever seen before. She gulped and forced a smile.

 

“You almost had me worried, Jaime, when I did not see you at my arrival.

\- I was busy.

\- So your soldier told me, yes.” She tried to remain unfazed despite the harshness of his tone. “But you did not write either, as you were supposed to.”

He did not say anything. He just kept on staring, as if he were searching for something in her eyes, in her face, in her entirety. And silence lingered, heavier with every second that passed, heavier with every second they spent staring at each other. He had no reason to act like this, no reason to be so cold and so harsh so suddenly – nothing happened in the space of a fortnight, nothing _could have_ happened. She would have known. She knew everything that happened, usually before he did. Did she not?

 _Yes, I do._ Her heart sank when she understood that indeed nothing happened in the space of this fornight – but many things happened before, and he ignored one especially. Or, rather, he was supposed to ignore one. She closed her eyes for a second. He chuckled lowly, almost cruelly, and she found nothing to say. He knew now, that she had understood. He could read her, could he not? So she said nothing. Silence lingered for a few seconds before he crossed the distance between them and looked at her straight in the eyes.

 

“When were you going to tell me?”


	33. Never meant to be

“When were you going to tell me?” he repeated when she remained silent. “Were you even going to tell me?

\- Tell you what?

\- No, Shara. You will spare me your court banter, I deserve better than this.” His voice was low, threatening. _A growl._ “You know exactly what I am talking about.

\- I told you, back in King’s Landing,” she softly said. “I told you that your father wanted to send you here with me because he was going to punish your sister.”

 

There was a silence, stunned on his part. She had just said too much – she had said it all. But there was no reason left to lie, was it? Everything was crumbling already, she could it feel it turning into dust in her hand. She tasted the dust already. Jaime Lannister was staring at her with unknown eyes, a stranger’s eyes. _Is that what he is? A stranger?_ Her heart was tight and painful and for once she knew it was not the pregnancy. The pain was too insidious, too vicious, as she saw Jaime’s beautiful face slowly distort into a cruel mask of anger.

She deserved this, of course she did. She had pushed it too far. She thought the dream could last, but no dream was meant to last. Everyone has to wake up, at some point, and it had lasted too long already. She knew it would happen but a tiny part of the mind, the tiniest part of it, foolishly hoped he would not mind. _But he loves her,_ she thought. _He will always._ What happens on top of the world remains on top of the world.

 

“So it was you,” he hissed. “Our father had changed his mind about his marriage plan but you planted it back into his mind, did you not?

\- He never changed his mind. Olenna Tyrell wanted me to convince him not to marry her to her grandson.

\- You treacherous snake.” He turned away and paced the room, running his hand on his jaw impulsively until he stopped to glare at her again. “Any way the wind blows, you go with it. Would you have got me killed if she had asked you? No,” he stopped her when she tried to speak. “Do not answer that. You speak naught but lies.

\- I did nothing. The decision was your father’s.

\- Nothing my father does is truly his decision lately.”

 

She tried to speak, but nothing came out. What could she say? She had done that. She had _ordered_ Tywin to send her away, to get rid of her wherever he wanted. She _wanted_ her to go away and die if she had to. She _wanted_ her to be miserable in Highgarden, surrounded by foes and left with no ally. She _did it all._ He was right when he refused to hear her denial, and yet all she wanted was to convince him that she was not involved, that she never mentioned it with his father, that she never wanted her away. _But he knows. He sees – he reads me._

She made a few step toward him, slow and careful. He did not move but the ice in his eye turned into flames. It was scorching, only to look at. She tried to reach for his arm but he made a step back, refusing her his mere touch. The pain increased in her chest and she almost suffocated.

 

“Jaime, I wanted to tell you, but there was no right moment. I tried, but…

\- No, you did none of that. Why would have told me anything?” He resumed his pacing, all around her, like the lion he was around his prey. “If you had told me on the ship, before we reached Gulltown, _you knew_ that you would instantly return to King’s Landing. If you had told me on our way to the Bloody Gate, _you knew_ that I would refuse to follow you any further. If you had told me when we sneaked into the Gates of the Moon, _you knew_ that I would abandon you to your fate.” He paused. Only his steps could be heard. “You could have told me once we were in the Eyrie, but I suppose it would have ruined your victory and your perfect little world with you in the centre.

\- No, you do not understand…

\- Make no mistake, Shara, I am to blame for this just as much as you are.”

 

She closed her eyes for a second. The worst was yet to come, and it was coming very soon. _You deserve it all,_ she thought. _You only feel guilty because you got caught._ This time she could not even pretend she had no other choice. She could have told him at every step of the journey, but she did not. She wanted to keep him – first the name, then the knight and eventually the man. She never wanted to admit that neither the name, nor the knight and even less so the man were hers to keep after what she did.

She did not utter a word. No word could change anything to this. There was nothing she could say that would appease him. All she could do was listening to him, watching everything she dreamed of having being broken apart like a castle made of salt and sand – ravaged by the storm she had created herself. _Everything I touch, I ruin._ Because there was nothing she touched without second thoughts. _Nothing but him._

 

“You never hid anything of what you are. You called yourself a monster, blamed yourself for the tragedies in your wake,” he continued, his voice now a feral drawl. “And I, ever the fool, thought there was something more to you, something no one could see but me. A glimpse of something better than what you show to the world. But it was all your plan, was it not? After our conversation in the Sept, you understood just how gullible I could be and you used it.

\- No!” she cried out, unable to suppress the despair in her voice. “No, Jaime, I never…

\- You have said enough. To think I truly believed you could be saved. But in the end it is just as you always mean it to be; you were right and I was wrong. You are a monster.”

 

 _No!_ She gasped and felt her knees going weak. She clung unto the nearby chair not to collapse. A whisper in her mind mocked her, reminded her that he _was nothing_ and that he had _no right_ to talk to her like that. It reminded her of Stannis Baratheon and Petyr Baelish, of what it cost them to slight her. Of the taste of blood in her mind, and the _pleasure_ she felt when she crushed them.

But she could not feel any anger. Just _pain._ She hurt too much to be angry. It was not supposed to be like that, she was not supposed to hurt that bad because of a man, but it was not just a man – it was him. And she was losing him. She had lost him already. She wanted to fall on her knees and beg him to stop, _please, stop._ She wanted to beg for forgiveness, and do everything and anything for him to _stop looking at her like that._

 _To stop smirking like that._ He could see, he could feel just how hurt she was and he enjoyed it, just as she enjoyed the idea of Stannis’ armies dying at his feet and Baelish falling from his throne. For the first time in months, she was the weak one and she could do nothing about that.

 

“It hurts, does it not, to hear the truth? But tell me, who else than a monster would conspire for the certain death of the woman his so-called closest ally has loved his entire existence? Who else than a monster would take everything he has with one hand and caress him with the other?

\- Jaime, listen to me, I… Could not possibly know what would happen here, in the Vale.

\- You sent her away without even thinking. When you could have admitted that, you knowingly refused.” His eyes were now black – there was no hint of green left. “It only matters now because you have to face the consequences of your decision. You would not regret anything, had I not come with you.” He scoffed. “But you do not even regret it, do you?

\- She threatened my life, she would have killed me, harmed my child. I had no other…

\- See, Shara? It always goes like this. Stannis betrayed you, so you _had_ to destroy him. Littlefinger betrayed you, so you _had_ to kill him.” He paused. She shivered. “Cersei humiliated you when she slapped you, so you _had_ to send her away regardless of the consequences. Hundreds, perhaps thousands died for you to _do what you had to do_ , but it only haunted your sleep for a few days. Everything is always so easy in your mind, because there is only _you_ ”

 

For a long time she had believed that her father’s memory would haunt her, torture her, her entire life; that it would used against her until her last breath and forever remind her that she would never be him or even worthy of his lineage. It was a terrible thing already – but this? This, she had not expected but now she knew that _these_ words _, his_ words would forever haunt her sleep and loom over her head in every moment of her life. Her father was dead, her father never even knew her, but Jaime did. Any of his word held more meaning than every memory of her father, because he was alive, because he had seen through the lies, the smoke and the mirrors and because everything he said was true.

She felt a tear running down her face, and she hated herself. She felt weak, so weak. She was going to be the most powerful woman of the realm, the ghost of a crown was awaiting her in the Red Keep and soon the entire realm would see it too. But in this very moment, standing in this cold room in this lone castle, she was just a woman and she was breaking apart.

 

And Jaime was not done, not nearly. He was still staring at her, with no trace of mercy or pity in his eyes. He knew he had brought her to her knees, if not physically then at least mentally. She had shown no pity to Cersei – he would not show any more to her. _He is a Lannister,_ she remembered suddenly. _A Lannister always pay his debts._ This was the payback. Nothing more.

 

“To think I followed you blindly, protected you as if you were of my blood. To think… I would have given my life to protect yours.” He chuckled sombrely. “I trusted you, Shara, I shared with you a secret than even my sister ignores. I opened my heart, my soul to you thinking that you had done the same.

\- I had,” she breathed. “I have. Jaime, please, stop.

\- If you had asked me, I would have followed you to the end of this world. Seven Hells, I did follow to the top of the world!” His eyes were losing their darkness, but it was replaced by someone just as terrible, just as horrid – a grey, dull sadness. “I would have defied the laws of the gods and the laws of the men if you had asked me, if it was what it took.

\- I never wanted to lie to you. I knew that it would pain you and never found the right time. Knowing that I would lose you if I told you everything, I…

\- You still do not see it, do you?” His lips curled up in a dark smile. “ _You, you, you._ It is always you. Is it me you did not want to lose, or your reflection in my eyes?”

 

She turned away, turned her back on him and closed her eyes. She suppressed the tears, wiped off the one she had allowed to run on her cheek. _He has no right to talk to me like that,_ she thought. _No right at all._ She still felt overwhelmed by pain and she could still feel her heart shattering with every of his words, but she somehow started to sense _anger_ as well. Perhaps it was the only way she had to deal with this. She could not fall on her knees and beg, but she could scream. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself.

There was no use, of course, but anger brought clarity and when she turned again to look at him, the pain in her chest seemed more bearable. She felt… She felt exactly like she felt after Tywin Lannister made a show of the spy, in the throne room, and got him to disclose Stannis’ betrayal. Desperate. Broken. Trapped. _Betrayed._ She trusted him. Everything he said he would have done for her, she would have done for him. _But it does not matter, does it?_ All that mattered now was _her._ And the thought filled her with more ice than fire.

 

“If I am such a monster,” she hissed. “Is it really wise to tempt fate?

\- By all means, tell me what you are going to do to me.” He scoffed, mocking and bitter. It only fuelled her rising anger. _At last._ “Let me see, are you going to destroy my entire family like you did with the Starks? Set fire to Casterly Rock, the way you had Duskendale burned to the ground? Or maybe you will just push me over the ship’s rail, hoping that I will drown and agonize in silence?” He crossed the distance between them again, looking down at her. “Or perhaps you will fathom some inventive way to make me suffer before you get rid of me. Provoke the Tyrells’ ire, so that they retaliate against Cersei?

\- Would you dare stand against your father the way you are standing against me?” she retorted while making the last step that separated them. “You have no right to talk to me like this.

\- You bark so much louder than you can bite. Mayhap the realm is frightened by your little act, but you are nothing but a cruel, _wicked_ little girl hoping for more power than she could…”

 

She acted without thinking – she slapped him, and the sound of her palm against his face filled the room for a mere second before a deafening silence replaced it. He barely moved at all as she clenched her fist on her chest. His eyes were engulfed in flames, green flames, like those that had destroyed Duskendale and the bay of the Blackwater. It was adequate, if flames were meant to destroy her; _let them be green._ She remained perfectly still, unflinching in front of him.

He slowly reached for his cheek. It was turning red in a starry form – five branches, for her five fingers. He scoffed when he brushed it, then chuckled. It could not have hurt; he was Jaime Lannister, not some common squire. It most likely hurt her more than it did him, and it did hurt. Her hand was burning now as if it had touched raw fire. _I suppose it is what happens when one touches wildfire._

 

She gritted her teeth and did not move when he headed for the nearest window, still running his hand on his jaw. She had to send him away, or he would continue. _If I send him away now,_ she could not help thinking. _I am losing him forever._ But he had never been hers to begin with, never been hers to keep or lose. It was just an illusion she had bathed in for as long as she could. For that she was guilty, indeed. _I should not even be caring at all. I should not care about him, or about his cursed sister’s fate._ The fact that she did nonetheless fuelled her anger more than it tamed it.

 

“Get out of this room,” she ordered as clearly and coldly as she could. “Now.

\- There she is.” He turned his head to look at her again. “The cold beast the Lord Hand married.

_\- Get out of this room._

\- It hurts, does it not? To feel betrayed by someone you thought you could trust, someone you confided in thinking that they might understand you better than anyone else?”

 

 _It does. It does not matter._ She was not the only monster in the room and she would not allow him to convince her otherwise. He had killed as well, and he had blood on his hands, and he was just as selfish as she was. The realm had bled because of the unnatural, morbid _love_ he shared with his sister – if not for them, Stannis would have never risen against the throne; if not for them, Robert’s heir would not have been a baleful and dangerous boy; if not for them, her father would not have died the way he did. _Nothing would have happened if not for them._

It made her giggle, to realize just how responsible the Lannister _family_ was for the slaughter the war had been. Cersei, Jaime, Tywin, Tyrion – all of them had blood on their hands, perhaps not more but certainly not less than she did. _How could I have been so blind?_ She had been so consumed by her own monstrosity that she had forgotten _who_ Jaime Lannister truly was. With one hand he saved a city – with the other he killed a king. With one hand he held the sword of justice and protection – with the other he wiped off the blood from his white armour. Now that he had lost one of his hand, all that remained was the war he had provoked and the blood in his wake. It was no better than the ashes in hers.

 

“If Cersei dies,” he continued, ignoring just how dark her thoughts had turned. “Her blood will be on your hands, _your hands_ only.

\- I can accommodate for her. Can you?

\- How dare…

\- Can you accommodate for her blood? Can you accommodate for Arryn, Baratheon, Stark blood as well?” He was holding his breath, as if he knew exactly what was going to happen. _This is going to hurt, just as much as you hurt me._ “Will you accommodate for Tully blood too? What a body count you have, you and your sweet sister. How many had to die for you to keep on bedding her?” She could no longer feel, no longer hear her heart beating in her chest, as if it had stopped when his had. “The blood on our hands has meaning. I destroyed those who slighted me and I ended a war. You created this war because peace mattered less than _fucking your sister._ ”

 

Silence resumed, stunned and painful. As they faced each other, they faced their own crimes in each other’s eyes. She could not undo what she had done, not more than he could – but she saw it all very clearly. She knew just how much blood she had on her hands and she knew that it would most likely never dry. Had anyone ever reminded him how responsible he was for the war? Did he even know?

The amount of _raw pain_ in his eyes was enough of an answer to that question. He knew, _gods he knew._ But he was Jaime Lannister. He was the Kingslayer. Who would dare to question his choices? Who would dare to even imply that the disgusting rumours about the Lannister twins could be true? For the entire realm, the series of events that eventually triggered the war had begun with Lord Jon Arryn’s death. For some it had begun the day he was poisoned – for the rest, it just led to a stream of terrible decisions, deaths and horrid consequences, and then war. Jaime Lannister was just another man caught in the whirlwind. Amongst those who knew how involved he was, she was the only one who formulated it. _It does hurt to be betrayed, does it not?_

 

“The only difference betwixt you and I is that I never pretended not to be involved in the war,” she finally said, feeling suddenly drained. “The entire realm knows how much I did and why I did it all. The monster I am, I hide it not.

\- You think this has won you the battle, do you not? That your low cunning and deceit hide your pain?

\- No, I do not. But if my hands are wet with blood, so are yours. If I must be a monster, so be it, but so is your sweet sister and so are you.” She smirked bitterly. “It takes one to know one, does it not?

\- I cannot expect you to understand how different we are. You do not know what love is, you have never loved anyone and you will never.”

 

She gulped. All the cold rage, the anger she thought had replaced her pain vanished, leaving her with the same amount of distress, despair and sorrow as before. She staggered on her feet, as if hit, and clung unto the nearest bed stand. She had aimed right, right at his heart, but so did he. She closed her eyes and dug her nails into the wooden column. _Love._ He said the word as if it explained everything, as if it were enough to justify the war, the dead and the blood. He said the word as if it were a slur when unknown; and he was right, when he said she knew nothing about it.

When she looked at him again, she noticed a hint of hesitation in his eyes. She slowly straightened her posture and composed herself, and the hint slowly vanished. _Worry not, Ser Lannister._ She was not going to die just now. He had not won. She would not let him step out of this room hurting any less than she did. By the way he looked at her, though, she knew she had already done enough. _I am tired. I want it to end, it is too much pain._ She kept her chin high and her shoulders tensed, though, as she walked away to the other side of the room and turned her back on him.

 

“ _Love_ did not save the Starks at the Twins. _Love_ killed them.” _It is killing me at this instant._ “I trusted you, Jaime.

\- So did I. How mistaken we were.

\- How terribly indeed.” Both of their voices were lifeless, blank. “There is nothing left to say. Leave.”

 

He lingered for a while, as if he were searching for something to say, something to retort, something to do. But eventually the door opened and closed. She felt one, two tears rolling down her face and tasted their salt when they reached her lips. She slowly fell on her knees on the cold ground and let them run free until her face was wet with tears. She hated herself. She pitied herself.

She had believed in a solace for herself, she had thought that maybe she could mend herself with Jaime’s broken pieces and give him hers in return. It was a dream, nothing more. She had planted the seeds of the nightmare it had just turned into before she even realized this dream could be. It was never meant to be. It never could have been.

But the pain was real, the pain was there and it was overwhelming. She reached for her chest, where her heart should have been, but she felt like there was nothing left there. She had shattered it herself. _If it was never meant to be, why does it hurt so much?_ Why did she found herself on the ground of a lonely room, clutching at her empty and cold heart, tears running down her face, if it could have never been?

She had made her choice a long time ago, when this pain did not even have a name. She had ruined it all before she even knew it was possible to _feel like this._ She had fought, she had killed, she had bruised herself in every way possible to make this choice. It did not feel like a choice then. _I had no other choice. I had no other choice. I had no other choice._ She had the choice, but she did not know it then. She had, and she made her choice. She had and she chose vengeance.

 

Now she no longer had any.


	34. In the quiet, it will grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand there we are, back where it all begun! Those of you who longed for Tywin are going to be happy: there he is!

She boarded the ship the next morning with her full escort – Valemen and Lannister soldiers alike. She assured Ser Cox that she would mention the fate that befell his town to the Lord Hand, knowing full well that she would never do it and settle inside the ship’s small cabin. Maester Rubben did not sleep with her, but he was certainly planning on spending most of his time watching over her, so he had made sure that he would at least have a seat and a small table for himself.

Although the ship was much smaller than the one they arrived in, it had been set up to be as practical as possible. Her clothes had been placed inside the small closet of her cabin even before she arrived, the bed had been made with fine and silky linens and, overall, everything was made for her to feel comfortable. Her heart tightened when she realized just how much effort had been put for her own comfort.

Maester Rubben pestered her with a lot too many questions when he noticed her change of mood, and never really gave up. She pretended it was her physical weakness, the perspective of giving birth, the return to the capital, her mother’s ailments – all of that at once, when he insisted, but he was never truly satisfied. None of that was untrue, of course. She could still feel the sword hanging above her head, waiting for a soft push to fall, and she could not pretend she was not exhausted and worried.

But it was just a background of displeasing emotions, smoke and mirrors hiding just how much she hurt. The anger she hoped she would feel against Jaime never arisen, because even she _knew_ that she was the only one responsible for the situation. She deserved every bit of his anger, scorn and hatred and she deserved the pain. She simply had never realized just how much sadness could hurt.

She hardly ever crossed his path while on the ship. The weather was terrible most of the time and she seldom walked out of her cabin. When she did meet him, he barely looked at her. He did not really _avoid her_ , but it was just like it was before… Before, when he was just a sworn brother and she was just some highborn Lady living at court, living nearby but never really acknowledging each other. They walked past each other without a glance, without a nod. _Like nothing ever happened._ As if these last few months had never existed. In a way, it was true; except for them, nothing ever happened during these few months. It did not matter what _could have_ been – it was never meant to be, was it?

The terrible weather at least brought one thing: the strong wind made the journey quicker than it should have been, and although it felt like an eternity, they eventually reached the Crownlands’ shore after sailing south of Driftmark and the now abandoned Dragonstone. She was outside, on the deck, when they passed the great watchtower of Sharp Point and its great fire. _Two days left,_ she thought as she watched the flames growing dimmer and dimmer as they ship sailed. _And Duskendale in on the other side._ It was way too far to be seen from there, of course, and there was no one left to light the beacon and keep the ships away from the coast. She tried to distinguish it though – and failed, miserably.

Two days later, they arrived in sight of the capital by the late afternoon. The sun was already setting, sign of the season, as the captain started the perilous manoeuver of entering the still very much obstructed harbour. She was inside her cabin, putting on her cape and composing herself. The entire court probably knew she was arriving, if only because the ship had been spotted from every harbour as they sailed toward King’s Landing – some would be expecting her with Tywin on the pontoons. _I better keep a straight face when he understands,_ she thought as she looked at herself in her small mirror. _Otherwise I am as good as locked in my apartments for the rest of my ordeal._

 

“Glad to see your husband again, my Lady?

\- Of course,” she replied without really thinking. “I left a long time ago.

\- I am sure the feeling will be reciprocal, given the circumstances.

\- Keep your wits for the court, maester.” She glanced at him. “Surely you will need all of them.

\- Certainly not more than you when you have to explain your deafening silence regarding your state to your illustrious husband, my Lady.”

 

_I should have mentioned his sarcasms as well._ She made no comment for a while and simply arranged her hair. She had no maid with her on the ship, of course, so she had had to braid her hair herself. It was much simpler than what she was used to, but she managed to make it look at least acceptable. No one could expect her to be rouged and fancily coiffed after such a long and complicated journey. She eventually looked at him in the mirror as he was putting his books away.

 

“You would do well to remember who you serve, maester, when we are at court.

\- I must be mistaken but with all due respect, it does sound like a threat.

\- It is not,” she replied as she turned to look at him. “And I do not intend it to be. I simply wish you to keep in mind that my Lord husband already has a maester at his service, Grandmaester Pycelle.

\- If the Lord Hand interrogates me, my Lady, I will not lie.

\- Nor would I ask you to. What he ignores, however, will not hurt him, nor will it hurt you or me.”

 

She stared at him until he nodded. _There are some things that even Tywin Lannister does not need to know._ The actual danger she put herself through, for example, as well as the risks she took. Her mother’s condition. The fact that she knowingly decided to shrug off cautious to dethrone a traitor herself. These things were not necessary things for him to know. _Not now, at least._ He looked back at her, though, intently. He would keep it all quiet, but if he asked the right questions, he would get the right answers. She could not blame it for that.

 

“But as for you and me,” she added with a smile. “I expect you to keep your truthfulness and honesty. It does irk me somtimes, but I suppose I cannot expect it from anyone else.

\- Ser Lannister seemed quite willing to offer you honesty for a while.

\- Ser Lannister will soon be gone for the Riverlands.” Her smile froze. He noticed it. “My goodson has duties of his own, maester.

\- I suppose so. Just as you have, hm?

\- I said that I appreciated your honesty, maester, not your innuendos.”

 

She darted him a quick – and dark, glance as the ship gradually lost his speed. Men were screaming to each other on the deck to throw the cordages on the pontoon as soon as it was possible. The rest of the sailors were pulling down the mainsail. She turned toward the door and tightened her cape around her shoulders. Looking down at her stomach, though, she knew that there was no way she could fool anyone. What used to be a rather discreet bump that she managed to hide under thick cape was now very much obvious and non concealable. Maester Rubben himself was rather surprised that it took so little time for her to show this much. _Any surprise from him is a worry for me,_ she mused as she stepped on the deck.

She did at the precise moment when the ship stopped by the pontoon, helped by the now tied cordages. For a moment she pretended she had not seen the amount of people awaiting on the landing and exchanged a few words with the captain. She thanked him as warmly as she could, asked if it was safe to climb down the ship… And then only turn toward the welcoming party.

She could not exactly name her feeling when her eyes found Tywin’s. It was a heady mixture of worry, pride, arrogance and unease, and it froze her for a second. She gathered her skirts and cape to hide her momentary confusion and, with the held of a sailor, climbed down the ship toward the landing. He did not make a single move for a long time, simply staring at her as she walked past some of the sworn brothers of the Kingsguard and a few Lannister soldiers. They all bent their neck upon her approach and she simply gestured them not to.

She stopped in front of him and, graciously, curtsied. As she did so, her cape opened on her dress – her goodmother’s, in fact, and she heard a few gasps and whispers. Tywin reached for her hand, stiffly, and planted a very ceremonious kiss on her fingers and she stood up. His eyes were as cold as ice and his jaw was tensed.

 

“Lady wife,” he worded slowly. “I trust you had a safe travel?

\- As safe as it is possible during wintertime, my Lord.” She smiled, for the court more than for him. No smile of hers would change anything to his icy glare. “But I see that King’s Landing still enjoys warm days.

\- We do.”

 

He had kept her hand in his and his grip on her wrist was too tight for comfort – but it was made on purpose, of course. She did not try to escape it and he released her when his son and soldiers disembarked. Jaime did not take a glance at her, he simply bowed before his father. The long stare they exchanged meant more than the few words he had spoken – Tywin’s, at least. There was nothing to read in Jaime’s eyes. He did not give him the time to ask questions and made his way through the crowd of courtiers, pretending he needed to finish his report. She kept a polite and neutral smile as he vanished toward the Red Keep, ignoring the weight of stares upon her.

Seeing that her Vale soldiers were waiting for her order to disembark as well, she gestured them to and turn toward Tywin again.

 

“I took the liberty of taking the most loyal and competent of my men with me,” she explained as the soldiers all fell on their knees. “As my late father did before me.

\- Is the Kingsguard not enough of a protection for you, Lady wife?

\- It certainly is, but I would hate to steal away His majesty’s personal guard for my own safety. I believe that in these troubled times, there is no such thing as too much protection.

\- How wise of you, indeed.” He eventually gestured the soldier to stand up. “You shall be welcome here as you were under Lord Jon Arryn’s command.”

_How welcome they must feel,_ she could not help thinking. There was naught but _pure ice_ in Tywin’s voice. She had not forgotten it, of course, but it would take some time before she got used to it again. Somehow, though, it did not impress her as much as it could have – or should have, since it was meant to. _I pushed a man from a mountain after sneaking into my own castle, icy eyes are not going to frighten me._ The soldiers followed those of the Lannister men who had remained, and soon enough the entire welcome party returned to the Red Keep. She took Tywin’s arm when he motioned her to and follow him inside.

She was not expecting anything to have changed, but she realized some things _had_ changed. The many, _too many_ flowers that filled the inner garden had either withered or been taken away, and it looked again like it had for years. There were still a few Tyrells banner floating here and there, probably left there to please Queen Margaery – but no Baratheon banners accompanied them. She simply noticed the coat of arms used by the late king Joffrey because his young brother, with both the black crowned stag and the old lion on gold and crimson field. She stared at it while they walked across the inner courtyard, toward the Tower of the Hand. _Baratheon after all,_ she thought. _To let the realm believe it has not been completely wiped off the map._

In a very deep, deafening silence, they both climbed the stairs that led to the highest floor. She immediately noticed that the door to her room had been walled up – just as she had asked, with a guard standing in front of the door that led to the bedroom that was never used. She smirked to herself as she followed Tywin inside his apartments. Nothing had changed here. Screens were still blocking the part of the room that was used as the actual _bedroom_ from the Hand’s office. The only thing that seemed to be have been moved away was the closet that was filled with her dresses, replaced by a smaller one.

As he went to sit at his desk, she patiently took off her cape and put it on the bed. The dress she wore did not even try to hide her swollen stomach; Lady Lysa probably wore it during the first stages of one of her pregnancy, and it was getting too tight for her. She wore it because it was the only red dress she had and, given the circumstances, she considered it to be adequate.

 

“You did not consider necessary to inform me of your state?

\- I considered necessary not to,” she slowly said. She put her gloves on the nearest table and headed for his desk. “If you had known, you would have found a way to ship me back here before I was done in the Vale.

\- Rightly so.” He glared at her. “Do I have to remind you that this is part of our agreement?”

 

_Believe me when I say,_ she mused, _that I would not be in this state if it were not._ She did not reply anything, she just stood still in front of the desk. He had taken a quill and a piece of parchment but he had not yet written anyway – and likely would not. It was the first time she did not manage to identify if he was angry, frustrated, satisfied or annoyed. He did not even seem to know himself.

 

“Was this the cause of this weakness of yours?” he asked. She nodded. “Did Jaime know?

\- We had already settled in the Eyrie when I told him.” _It is not technically a lie._ “No one knew, except for my maester.

\- I should not be surprised that you have risked your life as well as your child for a matter of pride, and yet I must admit that I believed you to be smarter.” There was venom in his voice. _He is angry._ “Refusing to inform me and endanger this child’s life was not your decision to take.

\- Was it not? Then whose decision was it? Yours?”

 

Of course it was, at least in his mind. She was fulfilling the part she had to play in their agreement, and for as long as this child remained in her womb, she was supposed to keep herself away from any source of danger. _Keep myself away from danger to keep the child safe._ He would probably have cared very much less about her trip in her mountains if she had not been with child. He probably would have berated her recklessness – but this? This was personal. _This_ was the heir he had been hoping for, ever since he conceived the idea of marrying her.

But she had never let him dictate her choices, had she? With or without this child, she had no intention for that to change. She slowly shook her head and chuckled. He frowned.

 

“Have you perhaps lost your senses while on those mountains of yours?” he hissed, as he stood from his chair and started to walk around the desk, now properly furious. “You have attacked a stronghold, confronted an army and waged a war _while being with child_ and you…

_\- And_ I lived to tell the tale.” She watched him as he walked toward her. “And this child will as well. I came to the Vale to reclaim my lands, and you should have known I would have never left before it was done.

\- I never gave you the authorization to risk my child’s life.

\- This child is just as mine as it is yours,” she retorted. “And I never needed a permission.”

 

She raised her chin when he walked close enough to be at arm’s length. He was fuming. Flames were dancing in his eyes, and she realized that what she had seen in Jaime’s eyes were but sparks compared to the brazier she could see in Tywin’s. He was raging, probably cursing her name and her sheer existence as he was staring right at her.

_But there is not rage in there, is there?_ She had returned from her war victorious in every conceivable way. She was bathed in glory and rumours, and she was bearing in her womb the price she had accepted to pay for everything he gave her. _Everything, ha!_ She slowly smirked and tilted her head. The rage was a veneer. A very convincing one, and probably running deeper than just an act, but it was a veneer all the same. _Or perhaps ecstasy and rage are the same for Tywin Lannister._

 

“If anything, you should thank me,” she softly added. “Not threaten me. I quelled a rebellion without spilling any blood, bearing your colours as well as mine, in both my name and yours. The entire realm should have known just how powerful you were – now they do for sure.

\- None of what you did what meant to serve the realm or me. I have not become a fool in a few months.

\- That is something we both know. Do they, though?” She smiled wider. “When they heard the rumours and the whispers, with whose name was I called?

\- Are you hoping I will make a grand speech in your honour and cover you with garlands of roses while the entire court applauses you?

_\- Roses_ would be a poor choice of flower, would it not?”

 

She knew he would do none of that – she knew he would not even acknowledge anything she had done in the Vale. He would benefit for it, of course, just as she would. But in the secret of their bedchamber, in the silence of their tower, she could battle him and remind him that _here_ they were equals. No amount of flames in his eyes and ice on his hands could change anything about that. All the pain she had felt for days, _weeks_ since Saltpans’ events were vanishing as she was staring at those emerald eyes of his. She was exactly where she was meant to be, doing what she was meant to do. The rest were just memories and child’s dreams.

The flames never disappeared, but they slowly died down, replaced by cold satisfaction. She never lost her smile and reached for his hand to put it on her stomach. He tried to pull it away at first, until he understood what she doing and what he was touching. His lowered his eyes and looked at her swollen belly. The flames completely disappeared.

 

“If you do not offer me garlands of flowers and grand speeches for what I did in the Vale,” she whispered. “I do hope you will for what I did here.

\- You are no singer to require applause.” He raised his eyes after a while and stared back at her again. “Nor are you some lowborn courtier craving for recognition.

\- Then what am I?

\- Foolish. Unwise.” The hand that rested on the curve of her stomach moved up to her neck, his thumb on her jaw and his fingers running through her hair. His grip was insistent – still angry. “Selfish. Treacherous. Seditious.

\- How will a foolhardy, foolish, unwise, selfish, treacherous and seditious woman be shown gratitude, then, for her unwavering loyalty and continuing service to her husband _and_ the crown?”

 

The corners of his lips curled up into a smirk, humourless yet intent. He looked at her stomach once again as she felt his nails scratching the nap of her neck. _Careful, my Lord. A lioness can only accept so much from her lion._ She let him, though, until he stepped away and headed for the window. She smiled to herself.

He would not give her anything, not willingly, not expressly. Everything she wanted she would have to take it. She was fine with this idea – she had won this battle. He would hardly ever forget that she concealed the child she bore for a very long time, for her own benefits first; but he could not and would not do anything about that. It was the first time that she was so entirely victorious, and him so entirely compelled to recognize it.

 

“I can settle for shadows, if it is all you are willing to give me.

\- Are you anything but a shadow yourself?” he retorted. “In your grand plan, have you ever thought that the child you bear may be a girl?

\- A woman with our two minds would rule this world before she finds her match in a man.

\- Is that your goal? Keep in the shadows, reach for the throne, if not for you then for your children?

\- Has it not always been yours?” He slowly turned to look at her again. She was still smiling. “Can you fault me for that, when you crowned a daughter and two grandsons, while you settled for shadows?”

 

In the half-light of the chamber, she could almost see the crown on his head. It was not the massive crown Robert Baratheon wore, not the intricate and precious crown his dead son had made out of it. It was much like the crown the first Targaryen king wore, a circle crown of dark, unbreakable Valyrian steel, with no jewel or stones to embellish it. It was heavy, as every crown was meant to be, and there was nothing _beautiful_ in it. It was just a sign, for all to see, of the true extent of his power.

A second later, though, it had disappeared. _Not for all to see,_ she corrected mentally. For the entire kingdom the crown rested on the child-king’s head, too large and too heavy for his feeble neck to bear – what lied in the shadows, no one had to know. _So be it. I want my share of the shadows._ She had bathed in them for long enough. She deserved the crown just as much as he did.

 

“Give me my heir,” he said after a while, his eyes shining in the darkness that surrounded them. “And we shall talk.

\- Beware, my Lord. What I am not given, I take.

\- I have underestimated you long enough, Shara Arryn, and last time I did, you pushed a Lord out of your window to a certain death, condemned an entire house to disgrace and exiled every of its members, all of that while carrying a child.” She could not help smirking. He did not, but the light in his eyes never stopped gleaming. “I know exactly how far you would go.

\- How far, then?

\- As far as necessary.”

 

They exchanged a long stare, and a lopsided smile. _Far enough. Deep enough. High enough._ Onward and upward. She placed a man over her stomach and nodded silently. If bringing this child to life _and_ surviving it was the price she had to pay, so be it. She would. _Or I will die trying._


	35. Angels in Hell

_Lavish_ festivities had been prepared to welcome the Lady Shara and her escort back at court, or so she realized when she woke up the following day. Tywin had made no mention of it, but she quickly understood that he probably ignored most of what queen Margaery had organized. Servants were already setting up the Red Keep’s gardens when she woke up, not very long after the Lord Hand himself – and it was _very_ early in the day. The usual Baratheon and Lannister banner floated, joined by plain Lannister flags as well as Arryn. _These were the banners my guard used while in the Vale,_ she thought as she looked through the windows. They looked small, by comparison, but she was already surprised enough that he allowed that.

The maid who arrived when she rung the bell quickly explained that _Her majesty_ was not expecting her to be returning with such a formidable news, and that she feared her welcoming feast would be much insufficient to celebrate. _This one is remarkably talkative,_ she thought as she nibbled at her small breakfast. _Way too much._ Either it was a ploy, or she was just new and ignored that a tongue is a weapon when at court – one to use against her enemies but also one to be used against her. Given how young and polite and courteous she was, she chose the former possibility. _She is one of Margaery’s._

 

“I do not recall ever seeing you before,” she softly said, interrupting the girl’s blabbering. “Has the Lord Hand appointed you at my service while I was away?

\- Yes, my Lady. The Lord Hand mentioned that you wished to have a proper household at your service. I served under the Lady Meredyth Crane before Her majesty decided that I should be at your service.” _Touché._ “My name is Merida Flowers.

\- What a pretty name you have, Merida. I take it you come from the Reach?

\- Yes, my Lady.”

 

Suddenly the little flower was no longer so bubbly and talkative. _A bastard,_ she thought. _And one of House Crane, probably._ She was not older than Margaery herself, and though she could not remember who Lady Meredyth was exactly, she could not be much older either. She smiled at her in the mirror and let her comb, curl, braid and tie her hair while she tried to understand why Tywin let the Tyrells invade her own retinue. _To keep an eye on them, most likely._ She knew better than to underestimate Margaery Tyrell’s close circle of friends, for she kept them around for good reasons – but this girl was young and if her mission was to spy on her, the same could be done through her.

 _I will ask for noble ladies to be sent to me from the Vale as well,_ she thought as Merida blabbered again on the upcoming feast, the musicians and how the queen was _ecstatic_ that she had returned at last. _I see no reason why I should be the only one without spies here._ She hardly listened to the girl while she followed her to her new apartments to choose her dress and read her correspondence. She walked past Maester Rubben who was slumbering on an armchair before she entered the antechamber. He almost jumped on his feet as Merida giggled. _The Seven be merciful, I will not bear with her much longer if she keeps on giggling like this._

 

“Maester,” she greeted him. “Have you not be given a proper room?

\- Not yet, my Lady, but you have very comfortable armchairs.

\- I shall trust your expertise on such matters, but will you please have my husband’s chamberlain summoned, so that I can change this disgraceful situation?

\- Of course, my Lady. May I hope to see you this morning?” He eyed her intently. “Now that your journey is over, I would like to examine you in better conditions.

\- If you please,” Merida intervened. “Her majesty wishes to see the Lady Shara before the festivities begin.”

 

She glanced at the girl. _Is Margaery truly hoping that this bastard is going to be my lady-in-waiting?_ The coldness of her eyes seemed to quiet her before Shara eventually smiled again and gestured Maester Rubben to go seek the chamberlain. She ordered the girl to find a dress that could suit her and accommodate her ever-growing stomach while she went straight to her actual bedroom where her desk had been kept in place. A pile of letters was awaiting her here. _Sealed,_ she noticed. _Or perfectly re-sealed._ She sat and opened them, one by one.

Most of them were letters coming from neighbouring kingdoms’ houses, congratulating her for her victory in the Vale. One had been sent by House Martell itself – by prince Doran, if the signature were to be trusted. _My invitation to visit the Water Gardens and Dorne still stands,_ he had written. _When you have recovered from your journey to your lands._ She could not help wondering why he was so insistent; what she had originally interpreted as a polite proposition, unmeant to be accepted, seemed to be a lot more than that. She put it away from the rest of the missives to mention it with Tywin later.

Lord Royce had sent her a full report on the granaries as well as on the number of refugees who had already arrived in the Vale. _The constant movement of the smallfolk makes the counting difficult,_ he wrote, _but we can estimate that at the very least a thousand of rivermen have arrived in the Vale. The highest counts reach up to five and thirty thousands. A reasonable average would make it ten thousands._ She bit her lips. She would need to address that as well, before they flooded the Vale and compelled her to close the borders.

 

“Would my Lady come and choose a dress?” Merida called her from the doorway. “I have found three dresses that would become you and that would be suitable for…

\- A moment, if you please.”

 

The girl’s face closed as she did the same with the door and left her alone. She stared at the door for an instant, cursing both Margaery and Tywin for their stupid idea, and resumed her reading. The rest of the letters came from some of her bannermen who had not yet pledged allegiance, and who had directly sent their pledges to King’s Landing. _Nestor Royce is nothing but efficient,_ she thought as she grabbed a quill, some ink and started to write quick letters for Lord Yohn Royce, Lady Anya Waynwood, Lord Godric Borrell of Sweetsister. To each of them she demanded one of their daughters or granddaughters to join her in King’s Landing as her retinue – Lady Rhea Royce, Lady Elys Waynword and Lady Gella Borrell. Obviously the first two were nobler than the third, and by far; but Shara needed one of them to be fully indebted to her, and the poor Lady of the poor House Borrel of the poor Sweetsister had no other perspective in her life than to obey her liege’s order. The two others would play their part at court.

She sealed the letters and joined the bastard maid in the antechamber. She had indeed chosen three dresses that were displayed on three armchairs. All of them had journeyed with her from the Vale to King’s Landing, but they were too light to be worn in the Vale or on the ship. She chose a pearl grey one, with lace around the neckline, long sleeves and subtle black embroideries on the entire dress, depicting feathers. The shoulders were embellished with actual black feathers sewed into pads that straightened the upper part of the dress.

The girl seemed to have finally understood that her blabbering was not welcome, and she kept mostly quiet while she helped her put on the dress and arrange the light corset. In her state, she was obviously not going to compress her stomach, but she made sure to get the dress to fit her as best as possible. She was just finished when the chamberlain knocked at her door. She instructed him with the changes she was going to bring to her entourage and asked him to get a room ready for Maester Rubben as soon as possible. The old man bowed down, both litteraly and figuratively, and promised that it would be done.

Then only did she obeyed _Her majesty’s orders_ and headed for Maegor’s Holdfast where the new queen had settled after leaving the Maidenvault. Her father had remained there with his own household, but as Tywin had written, most of House Tyrell had left for the Reach weeks ago – and it showed. When the numerous and lively party from the Reach was there, the Red Keep seemed to constantly rustle with activities, laughter and music. Just as the flowers had left the inner courtyard, the rustle had left as well. And the Red Keep was just as she remembered it; solemn, still and heavy.

She was heading alone toward the queen’s apartments as she had ordered Merida to remain in her apartments and arrange the dresses she had brought from the Vale inside her closets. The girl had pouted, but there were enough spies within these walls not to be constantly followed by one of them. A sworn brother of the Kingsguard was keeping the entrance to Margaery’s apartments – Balon Swann. He barely looked at her and let her open the door. She entered an antechamber, completely empty except for the queen, seated on an armchair and reading a letter. Shara fell into a deep curtsy until she jumped on her feet to seize her hands and straighten her up.

 

“Lady Shara, how delightful that you could come so fast,” she fawned with the sweetest smile. “The court missed you so, and prayed for your safe return.

\- The maid you sent me insisted that you wished to see me, and I could not refuse such a generous invitation.” She smiled as well and looked around, faking worry. “Have I come too early?

\- Of course not. Please, follow me outside, it is still warm these days.”

 

The young queen turned around in a swirl of curls and fabrics and headed for the patio just outside the antechamber. It was a sort of private courtyard, big enough to accommodate a table and a few armchairs and shaded by a flourished arbour. She gestured her to sit and asked the nearby servant to bring refreshments. She was just as pretty as she was when she left – even though she left after quite a trying time for her. Her third marriage with the newly crowned king Tommen had happened a few days after she left, but it was not nearly as magnificent and grand as her second one had been.

But she remained a queen nonetheless, and though she was not wearing any crown on her head at this moment, she did look like one. The prettiest flower of the garden, but the flower seemed lonely. There was a shadow in those brown eyes of her that was not there last she saw her. A longing, a melancholy. _Where are the sweet roses who should be entertaining her at every moment?_ She quietly waited for her to speak first and sipped the tea she was brought.

 

“I have heard tales of your journey. They truly say a lot of incredible things about what happened in the Vale.” She giggled. “Is it true that you stood alone in front of the Bloody Gate, without any escort or any knight to protect you, until they opened the gates?

\- I had an army behind me, so I was not exactly alone,” she corrected with a smile. “You should not pay too much attention to the rumours, your majesty. They might be deceiving, and the truth disappointing.

\- I do not believe anything about you could be disappointing, Lady Shara. Why, you left King’s Landing with a felon in your castle and returned with full control over your lands, _and_ carrying a child. This is very much song materials.

\- I must admit the last part was not really part of any plan.”

 

They both laughed. She saw Margaery Tyrell’s eyes lingering on her stomach before she looked at the pastries placed in front of them. She was not going to mention her goodmother’s departure for the Reach, nor was she going to mention the part Shara played in this departure – but the two women knew that none of them were stupid or fooled by this pleasant invitation. _Lady Olenna must be cursing my name, my house and my blood for dozens of generations,_ she thought. She had to deal with Cersei Lannister in her own castle now, and though she had still not heard anything about that, she imagined it could not be pleasant.

Silence lingered between them, as they both looked outside the patio, at the bay, or at their cup of tea. The shadow in the queen’s eyes grew, and for a second Shara thought she was going to cry. She did not, though, she composed herself and sipped her tea with her usual and exquisite grace.

 

“Your majesty…

\- Please,” she interrupted her. “When it is just the two of us, Margaery will do.

\- Are you alright?” She ignored the call. “Where are your ladies?

\- Ha.” The queen scoffed and shook her head. “You did catch me at a very compromising time, did you not? You can tell the block of ice you call a husband, for all I care. It would not be the first time you serve his interest better than mine.”

 

 _So much for discretion and subtlety, I see._ She remained composed and said nothing while Margaery Tyrell rose and headed for a slit opened in the arbour. Shara had not often been to Maegor’s Holdfast, as it was the royal family’s tower, so she could only guess what she was looking at. Given that she could see the bay from where she sat, she guessed she was looking at the inner courtyard. She kept silent for a long time, until Margaery herself turned around to look at her again.

 

“My grandmother asked you for help. Why did you choose your glorified gaoler instead of us?

\- If not for queen Cersei’s erratic behaviour against me, I would have done what your Lady grandmother wanted me to do,” she quietly replied. “But I had to protect myself.

\- You condemned my brother to a fate worse than death. Do you not regret it?

\- I would lie if I told you that I do, but make no mistake: given the chance, she would have killed you too.

\- Tommen would have never allowed her to threaten me.

\- His majesty is a child, and she is his mother. Not even Lord Tywin could stop her.”

 

The little queen closed her eyes. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed deeply. Suddenly the full extent of her distress, worry and exhaustion appeared and Shara could not help feeling sorry for the girl. She often forgot that she was younger than she was, and although she had been raised to become the perfect court Lady, she was very far from her home and family. _She has a good heart,_ she thought, _despite being a younger and prettier Queen of Thorns in the making._

With Cersei gone, though, she expected Margaery to flourish and make this castle her own. Tywin cared not for decorum, parties and flowers, and so long as he kept the reins of the realm, he probably would not care for whatever activities she would entertain. The castle should not be this quiet with a king and a queen so young, and yet it was. The joyous queen’s party was silent and the entire place seemed to be frozen in time.

 

“Has Lord Tywin been indelicate with you?” she asked, knowing that he probably never talked to her. “Or any other person here?

\- The Lord Hand has been everything you would expect him to be, but not indelicate.

\- And yet you seem distressed.

\- You would not understand my distress,” Margaery retorted. “You have spent your entire life here, with your father.

\- You would not call him a father if you had known him. Do tell, I may not understand but I may help.”

 

 _Loneliness. Homesickness._ The little queen was disoriented in this castle, left mostly alone with a few ladies who probably relied on her and expected her to know exactly what to do. Her father was there, of course, but he most likely had very little time to spend with his royal daughter now that he sat at the small Council as Master of ships. Her mother, grandmother and brothers had returned to the Reach – with Cersei Lannister, none else.

She was right when she said she could not understand her distress. She had grown up in this environment, alone and left to figure out how to behave, what to do and how to survive. She hardly remembered anything else, and she had nothing to regret. She had no loving mother, no loving brother to miss. _Loneliness_ was just as natural for her as warmth and love were for the young Margaery.

 _At least it felt natural for a while._ She could not help the sudden twinge of her heart. She had slipped back into her usual, court-savvy self, so easily that she could almost forget that, for a while, she had been a different person. _A better person,_ she thought before instantly correcting herself. _A person pretending to be better._ The mask had fallen now. She was alone again – as she was always meant to be. As she shrugged off Jaime’s memory, Margaery eyed her with distrust, but eventually sat again and sighed again.

 

“I am not like you, or like Cersei Lannister,” she said, the shadow in her eyes now enveloping her whole. “I do not fare well when I am alone.

\- I am going to pretend you did not compare me to Cersei Lannister.” Margaery scoffed, and it brought a smile to her lips. “And yet you are not alone, are you? What about your ladies?

\- They are sweet, but they are mostly… Brainless, as most ladies are. My family is different.

\- This I can understand. I always considered most ladies to be brainless too.”

 

She did not know why she felt the need to entertain the new queen. She could name quite a few _rational_ reasons why it was useful to get on her good sides – remain aware of what happened in the Reach, keep an eye on Cersei Lannister’s behaviour there, possibly keep get some personal, non-Tywin related, measure of control over the new royal couple and gaining personal influence through a proximity with the lovely new crowned head were only some of them. Those were very likely and believable reasons.

 _Maybe I just do not want to return to my natural loneliness,_ a voice whispered in her head. She shut it off. Even if that were true, Margaery Tyrell could hardly compare to Jaime Lannister. She had nothing in common with this pretty pampered girl, except perhaps for her cleverness, her shrewdness and her undisguised ambition. It was already three things she hardly ever had in common with any other woman, of course, but it was hardly a healthy basis of relationship.

 

“Do you know what my grandmother last told me?” she asked her with a humourless smirk. “Before she left with your horrid parting gift?

\- I can only imagine, but I suppose she instructed you to keep yourself from both Lord Tywin and me.

\- She did not mention him, actually. Just you.” The queen’s brown eyes had lost their shadow and were now astutely shining. “You have made yourself a dangerous enemy, when you refused to help my House.

\- If this must be the last thing you hear from me, Your majesty, then heed this,” Shara replied with a neutral smile. “Cersei Lannister often said that when you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. I know not if this is the game you wish to play, but I have nonetheless come to understand that when at court, the same rule apply. Either you survive and thrive, or you die. I will not apologize for playing the game.”

 

The two women stared at each other from each side of the table in a heavy and tension-filled silence. The most reckless piece of the board had been taken away – now remained the deadliest and the unpredictable. _Now, who is who?_ She could not quite predict what the young rose would do now, for she had seldom ever mingled with her kind. Olenna Tyrell was an old, seasoned woman who had nothing to lose, and though she had raised her granddaughter to be just as smart as she was, she doubted the same amount of aggressive defiance could be expected from Margaery. The Tyrells hid everything they had for fear of showing too much of it; for decades they had holed up in their beautiful castle, away from the court’s turmoil and forgotten of most of the realm, only to return with caskets of fruits aplenty and smiles and courtesy. They hid their intelligence and ambition behind a veneer of charm and friendship and delicacy. The girl was no different.

After a while a smiled returned to her face and she chuckled, to herself first then more genuinely amused. She grabbed a lemon cake on the plate in front of her and took a bite in it, looking just as radiant as she usually did.

 

“What my grandmother ignores cannot possibly harm her,” she said, in a perfectly faked light tone. “Or harm me, incidentally. Plus, she has never lived at court, has she?

\- I do not think she did.

\- You have.” Her brown eyes were gleaming, staring at her from the other side of the table. “Your marriage with Lord Tywin rests on an agreement, does it not? Would you be inclined to consider another?

\- As long as it does not endanger the first one, I am all ears.

\- My grandmother taught me well, but the things she ignored she could not teach me. I need _a loyal friend_ to fill the voids and assist me, as a queen with no true throne for a very long time.”

 

 _A loyal friend, hm?_ She considered her offer. It was a tricky one, of course – the new queen was not as helpless as she showed, but she indeed needed the kind of advices her _brainless_ companions could not give her. Cersei Lannister had no friends at court but she could very much have agents still, so any women who had known her was suspicious. Margaery Tyrell had a very small room for manoeuvre, and although she was _by no means_ a good choice, she was the best option she had.

 

“Mayhap I could be this friend,” Shara said with a smile. “If, of course, you agree to be mine.

\- And would a friend of yours thank you for your sympathy?

\- I hardly am in favour with the court, for reasons that are only too obvious. I would be very thankful if you helped me change this situation.” She tilted her head. “But that will come naturally, will it not?

\- I never let a friend of mine be disregarded indeed.

\- In exchange, I will gladly assist you in all your endeavours. After all, if the king has a Hand… Why not his queen?”

 

Margaery’s smile widen for a second, just enough to show the full extent of her personal victory. _Never forget that if you win, so do I._ Shara smiled back and the two women sipped their tea in a common gesture, signing the unwritten agreement they had just agreed to. _Tywin needs not to hear about that._ He would soon start to ask questions about the little queen, especially when he sees how close the two women had grown. She would bring answers, but not all of them. If she wanted to keep her on her side, this was the kind of things she would need to tell her.

As for the rest, she trusted her to do everything in her power to protect herself and thrive – she expected her to know the same about her. Perhaps one day their _friendship_ would fall, but it was the way of the world, was it not? Then again, it was an unwritten, untold part of the agreement.

 

“To us, then,” the rose queen said. “And to our friendship.

\- To us indeed,” the shadowed queen replied. “To thriving.”

 

_To thriving._


	36. What's won is won...

Shara only left the little queen when it was high time for both of them to get ready for the evening feast. Margaery made sure it was grand, and Tywin had apparently suggested that it should be grand enough to also celebrate the official end of the war. _Despite the fact that the Riverlands are still very much at war with the rest of the realm,_ she thought to herself as she let a maid, not Merida, braid her hair again to pin a head-jewel on the top of her head. _A gift,_ she told her. _From your Lord Husband._

She eyed herself in the mirror and smirked. It was very much like a necklace, except that it was made to be worn on the head and not around her neck. Every two stone was a sapphire – the others were rubies. There was only so much compromise Tywin Lannister could agree to, after all. The stones were big enough to shine with the candles’ light, and she could not help wondering where they came from. The headpiece was new, but the stones could not be. It would take months to cut them and they were simply too big for him to have bought them _just for her._ Maybe it was part of the crown’s jewels, but it was unlikely for a man like him to use them for a woman like her. Maybe it was part of the Red Keep’s hidden treasures. Even if she asked him, though, he would probably refuse to tell her.

But it did look like a crown. More discreet than an actual crown, but a crown still. A thoughtful gift, if anything. She had settled for the pearls she had worn for her wedding as her only other jewel. Margaery had ordered her to look _grand_ too, but this was enough. The dress she had chosen was marvellous in her own rights, made of thin velvet in dozens of shades of grey. The black feathers she had worn during the day were now replaced by silver embroideries on each arm and each sides of the skirt. The only thing that could remind the world of her husband’s house was the rubies in her hair. He would not like that, but tonight was hers before it was his. The court needed to remember who she was, first and foremost.

Margaery had relayed her many information about the realm, most of which she still ignored. Being in the Vale for weeks had effectively isolated her from the six other kingdoms, and many a thing had happened. Lady Sansa Stark had officially recognized king Tommen as the one true king of the Seven Kingdoms and brokered peace. Given the hefty toll the war had taken on House Stark, it was agreed that as long as House Stark _and_ the North kept to their pledge of allegiance to the king, no other price was demanded. In return, House Lannister had accepted to free the few northern prisoners who were still imprisoned. _Poor Lady Sansa,_ the little queen had sighed. _All alone in the North, surrounded by the Boltons…_ She would soon be wed to one of them – which one remained the question. For her sake, Shara hoped she would marry Lord Roose. He was old and he was a dangerous man, but he was not the kind of cruel sadist his bastard was. For fear of losing the Lannisters’ support, he might refrain from hurting her. _Might._

Shara could not help the pinch of guilt that pained her heart when she thought of the girl she had sent home. She hoped the Lady Brienne could protect her from whatever wickedness the Boltons could demonstrate. _I have to send a letter to Lord Bolton,_ she mused. _To remind him of his duties to the crown._ Margaery had mentioned that whatever remained of House Tully was holed up in Riverrun, besieged by House Frey. Lord Edmure Tully, hostage of the Freys, was there as well, used as leverage against his uncle. Ser Jaime was to be sent to unfreeze a very much frozen situation and surrender the castle to House Frey. _What a disgrace._ The sheer thought of the Freys holding such an ancient castle disgusted her.

The rest of the information were mostly gossips, with little to no importance. What Shara wanted to know was the fate of the Stormlands and Dorne’s behaviour, but Margaery seemed to have heard of nothing regarding these two subjects. She hoped she would not have to question Tywin about that, but she eventually would have to if she wished not to wait for the gossips to reach her naturally. With Varys gone, the crown was terribly lacking in spies.

She was lost in her thoughts when she saw the maid suddenly fall into a deep curtsy in the mirror. Raising an eyebrow, she turned her head to see Tywin Lannister enter the room, dressed all in black as per usual. _So much for looking as grand as the celebration._ She rose from her seat to curtsy as well as he made his way to her dressing table. He gestured her to raise immediately and nodded appreciatively.

 

“I see you are wearing my gift,” he simply said. “It becomes you.

\- It is a wonderful gift. Thank you.

\- Her majesty has made quite clear that you are to be the heroine of the feast. I figured it was adequate that you would look the part.

\- Her majesty is obviously too good to me.” She dismissed the maid who disappeared through the door. Once it was closed behind her, she smiled and touched the jewels. “Am I supposed to understand something?

\- Nothing ever is simple with you, is it?”

 

She saw the shadow of a smirk on his lips as he handed him his arm. She took it and they descended the stairs to go straight to the small hall, at the first floor of their own tower, where the feast was to happen. Apparently Tywin refused to use the throne room, and Margaery considered the Queen’s ballroom to be too small for the entire court. When they entered the hall, she had to admit that it was a reasonable choice. Although the court was not nearly as numerous as it had been when preparing for the late king Joffrey’s wedding, many a Lady who had come for the celebration remained at court.

Almost every guest was already seated when they arrived, and all of them rose in a tumult of chairs scaping the stone floor. Even the king and his queen rose. Absolutely unphased, Tywin took her to their table, where they would seat as well as the guests of honour. She curtsied deeply until Margaery walked around the table to embrace her. _What a scene she is throwing,_ she thought while embracing her back, sensing the weight of both the court _and_ Tywin’s eyes on her back. She exchanged a smile with the little queen, everyone sat again and so did she. The first meal arrived immediately after and the feast began. She was supposed to make a speech, but she would do it later in the evening.

 

“You did not waste any time,” the Lord Hand eventually said as the room filled with laughter, voices and music. “Or did she?

\- You should be glad I get along with her better than I ever got along with the previous queen. Plus, we both have a lot to gain in being friends, do we not?

\- You do, indeed.” He glanced at her, then at someone on the other side of the room. “Is there something else I should know about your journey in the Vale?”

 

Unsure of what he meant, she followed his eyes’ direction and, if only for a second, froze. He was staring at Jaime Lannister, keeping guard near the door that led to the courtyard. He was wearing his golden armour and his white cloak, standing stiffly with his valid hand on his sword’s pommel. He was looking at everything and nothing at once, probably lost in his thoughts. She composed herself immediately after her first reaction, fearing that Tywin might understand something indeed happened during the journey. He did not seem to notice anything, though, and she feigned unawareness as she nibbled. She was not hungry, probably because she spent her days nibbling cakes and sweets with the queen, but it was a welcome distraction.

 

“Nothing that I know of,” she simply said. “Why?

\- My son had very little to report about your weeks-long journey. He would not be less loquacious if he had spent the entire time locked in a castle.

\- Apart from the obvious events, it was a rather boring journey. Perhaps you son wished not to bore you to death.” She shrugged and could not keep herself from looking at Jaime again. “Or perhaps he is trying to retaliate.

\- How did he react, when he learned about Cersei’s marriage?”

 

 _Better than he could have,_ she thought. _Worse than I hoped._ The usual heartache returned and she let her plate go away to be replaced by another one. She kept quiet for a while, trying to find some clever way to answer – but she found none. Being back at court made it easier to forget what happened, because she had many things to do and many things to say, many people to see and many people to talk to, but it _hurt_ still. She wondered if it would ever stop hurting, and if it would easier when he would be gone to the Riverlands.

She shrugged off these painful thoughts and concentrated on the guests around her. Many were staring until they realized she was staring too. Some were whispering, looking at her headpiece. Did they recognize the stones, or did they understand the meaning? It was hard to say – mayhap they did both. More likely, though, the court was starting to understand that, before long, the man she stood next to would be their one true king, and that the blond boy nearby would remain a _blond boy with a crown._ And so long as Tywin Lannister ruled, so would she, in her way.

 

“I am taking this silence as a meaningful answer,” he continued after a while. “Let us hope the Riverlands will clear his mind.

\- About that, are you really going to give Riverrun to the Freys, and oust the Tullys from their ancestral stronghold?” she asked point blank. He frowned slightly as he took his wine cup to his lips. “Or is it just something you tell the entire realm to keep the Freys in line?

\- Why should I go back on my word? I do not believe the Tullys really wish to pledge allegiance to the crown.

\- How surprising, really, when all the crown did to them is annihilating half of their family during a wedding, imprison their heir, besiege their castle and destroy their lands. Who would not want to pledge allegiance to such a good friend?”

 

He instantly tensed. She did not. She was not at peace with what happened at the Twins, but she knew that, at least, none of that was her idea and she had no part in the plan. If anything, the Tullys were reasonable and rightfully unwilling to compromise with those who allowed this massacre to happen. She ate in silence, ignoring the weight of her husband’s eyes on her shoulders when he looked at her.

And ignoring that, despite the fact that none of it was her idea and despite the fact that she had no part in the first stages of the plan, she still had Tully blood on her hands. Her spite was against him just as much as it was against herself, because he was their enemy just as much as she was, if Baelish had managed to spread the information far enough. The Vale knew, of course, but she knew nothing about the Riverlands or the North. When she looked up again, she realized that Jaime had also noticed her. As soon as he saw her looking back, he turned away to exchange his post with another sworn brother. Her heart sunk, and this pain was too much to be shrugged away.

 

“The Riverlands problem must be dealt with as soon as possible,” Tywin said stiffly. “We have no time to lose in negotiations.

\- House Tully is an ancient house,” she retorted, trying to both ignore her pain and not turn it into anger. “Even more ancient than House Baratheon. Are you really going to destroy another great house for the sake of brevity? The time you will gain now, you will lose in a matter of months, when the Riverlands nobles will rise against the Freys.

\- Your opinion is not warranted. This decision has already been taken.

\- Why are you in such a hurry?” She turned her head to look at him, but he was staring into space. His jaw was clenched and his fingers were tensed around the cutlery. “Winter is almost there. The Riverlands’ reserves are not plentiful, Riverrun will fall one way or another when snow covers the ground. Why the need to send an army?”

He did not reply. _Has something happened?_ She frowned. Of course something had happened. _What happened?_ Tywin Lannister was not a man to rush when it was not absolutely necessary. He only resolved to massacre the entire Stark family when it became obvious that the war would continue for months, possibly a year, before either side managed to exhaust the other. Dorne had been plotting against the crown for more than a decade and yet he had remained silent and unmoving for just as long, until it became obvious that they had to be kept in check. She was the perfect example of his unwavering patience – when he could have just executed her, he decided to be patient and to wait for the right moment to use her in his advantage. Things turned differently and they both made a different choice, but the easiest way would have been to have her executed.

 _It does not make any sense._ Before she left for the Vale, he hardly seemed concerned about the Riverlands at all. There was no emergency, not need for _the problem to be dealt with as soon as possible_ , as if the realm’s survival depended on it. No amount of staring at him managed to get him to look at her. He was looking at the other side of the room, seemingly unconcerned. She could see, though, the way his brows were furrowed and his jaw tense, and the almost imperceptible twitch of his lips. She was going to insist when the entire room fell silent. The queen has just risen from her seat.

 

“My Ladies and my Lords,” she greeted the room with her perfect smile, her cup in her hand, before turning to her side of the table. “My Lord Hand and my Lady Shara. I can hardly express how glad I am this wonderful feast. We have lived through dire times and reasons to rejoice and celebrate have been few, but I am glad to say that this time is over, thanks to our good soldiers and thanks to you, my Lord. The realm shall forever remain indebted.” Tywin simply nodded, accepting the gratitude but rejecting the honours. “This feast is also yours, Lady Shara, for you are the heroine of the night.”

 

She smiled back at Margaery and rose from her seat as well. She eyed her husband one last time. He barely reacted. _This is not over,_ she thought to herself. _This is not nearly over._ She kept on smiling, though, playing the part she was supposed to play – and it was a complicated one indeed. She had just returned from a warlike campaign in her own lands, crowned in victory, as _men_ usually did. But she was with child, and the entire court had either understood, seen or heard about it at this point. She turned to the little queen and tilted her head.

 

“This is too much honour you grant me, your majesty, to make this celebration mine.

\- And yet who deserves it more than you?” she retorted with a light-hearted giggle. “The Gods have favoured you, and both the Mother Above and the Warrior have blessed your path. By you House Arryn shall remain liege of the Vale, and by you House Lannister shall flourish. You are an example for us all, of strength and might alike.”

 

The court cheered around them as she nodded and curtsied in gratitude. Margaery Tyrell’s words were honeyed and powerful, her voice was strong and her attitude courteous – but her eyes looked straight at her, brighter than the naïve speech she was making. No one inside this room ignored that _strength and might_ were just one side of the coin, and that the other was much darker. But now everyone knew just how much the queen _loved_ her good-grandmother. She exchanged a long stare with her before turning to the court.

 

“I shall never enough thank the Gods for their blessing,” she said, placing a hand over her stomach. “And I shall never enough thank Their majesties for giving me the opportunities to defend my ancestors’ legacy. Everything I do, I do for the crown and for Your majesties.

\- We are very grateful for your loyalty.” King Tommen, the boy who was almost falling asleep on his golden seat, had spoken in a tone that barely hid the fact that he probably learned his part off by heart. There was sincerity in his voice, and good faith as well. He had no idea who he was talking to. “And we are very grateful that you return to us safe and sound.

\- Thank you, Your majesty. Never again shall the Vale rise against their rightful king.

\- Hear, hear!”

 

The court cheered again. Margaery had returned to her seat and she was the only one standing when silence returned. Every eye was on her, everyone’s attention was fixed on her and waiting for her next move. It was an intoxicating thought. After everything she had been through, everything she had done and everything that had been done to her, she was now the only one standing in a crowded room, during a feast that was held in her name. The king and the queen were seated next to her, Tywin Lannister himself remained still.

Her eyes fell on one person, though, and one person only. Jaime Lannister was now keeping guard near the door that led to the flight of stairs that ascended to the Hand’s apartments. This time he did not look away when she stared back at him. His face remained unshaken, his eyes, unreadable. She could see past it all, though, and she knew exactly what hid behind this unshakable veneer. _Anger. Blame._ He was unimpressed by the show, unimpressed by Margaery’s sudden adoration, unimpressed by the fact that she was the only one standing, because he could also what hid behind the smiling veneer. _Doubts. Remorse._

She grabbed her cup on the table and rose it. Everyone in the room imitated her, including the king, the queen and her husband. Even those of the sworn brothers who had a cup in their hand followed suit. Only Jaime did not make a single move and kept on staring. _Go ahead,_ he meant to say. _Make a show of yourself. None of them can see what I see._ What he was the only one to see, and what, soon enough, no one would ever see again.

 

“I will not delay the next meal any longer, worry not,” she declared with her brighter smile. She did not look away either. “I will simply say this: to Their majesties!

\- To Their majesties!

\- To king Tommen and queen Margaery,” she continued, rising her cup higher still. “Long may they reign!

\- Long may they reign!”

 

She sat while sipping her cup, smiling wide for the entire court to see. A group of musicians gathered in the middle of the room to play their songs as soon as she sat again, and a more joyous atmosphere shrouded the room. The singer bowed deeply in front of the table of honour and offered one rose to the queen, _a golden rose for the golden rose of King’s Landing_ , and one to herself, _a winter rose for the Flower of the Mountain reborn._ She accepted the flower and thanked the singer who returned to the centre of the room to begin his song.

It was not a winter rose, of course, just as the golden rose was just a rose painted in gold. Winter roses were too precious, too rare to be handed so freely by a singer. Even she had only seen one of them once, in Winterfell. It was not as blue as this one was, it was pale – the colour of frost, with a scent she could never quite name. It was sweet, almost too sweet for a flower so pale and so lonely. _A lonely and pale winter rose,_ she mused while looking at the clumsily painted flower in her hands, _for a lonely and pale flower._

 

“How reasonable of you,” Tywin said when the music was loud enough to cover his voice. “To refuse to make the grand speech you must be dreaming of.

\- I figured it would ruin the atmosphere if I revelled in Petyr Baelish’s demise, considering how it happened. Our little queen would have hated that.

\- Considering _who_ made it happen, indeed.” He eyed the flower in her hands. “This singer is a brave man, to have refused you the golden rose.

\- Not all that shines is gold, my Lord, and I am willing to leave gold to what is meant to shine.”

 

She put the rose on the table, near her plate and applauded at the end of the first song. The queen was asking for the merriest song they knew and rose from her seat to take the king to dance, with a few couples who had already left their table. _Dance, Your majesty,_ she mused, _while you still can._ The boy king looked positively _delighted_ to be able to spin and jump around the musicians, especially as his own wife encouraged him. Tywin made no comment about it, probably because stopping this very touching scene would end the celebration altogether. She herself watched the odd couple dancing together for a while before she cleared her throat to speak again.

 

“Winter cannot be the reason why you refuse to consider my plan with the Tullys,” she continued. “As far as I know, no other kingdom has refused to pledge allegiance to the crown, so there is no other battle to fight. The North is quiet and will remain so for as long as winter lasts, and I took care of whatever pocket of resistance that might have survived in the Vale. What do I ignore, then?

\- A lot of things, although you would never accept the idea.” He glared at her, his eyes dark and threatening. _Stop,_ they meant to say. _At once._ “This conversation is over.

\- No, it is not, not until I know what makes you so eager to lose any hope of keeping the Riverlands together, peaceful and allied to the crown. If you refuse to tell me, someone else will…

\- You may not be under threat of death anymore,” he hissed between his teeth. “But do no imagine that I will let you endanger the realm with your scheming and your blabbering. There is more than one way to keep a disturbing woman quiet.”

 

She gulped and looked away from him for a moment. There were indeed many ways to keep her quiet and controlled, especially as she so visibly with child. Maester Rubben’s loyalty would not be nearly enough to stop the Lord Hand from locking her inside her room, _for her own safety of course_ , for as long as it would be necessary to deal with the Riverlands. _Or for as long as it would be necessary to make the situation impossible to change._

She needed to be clever, to see through his mask. At this point, any question would be a step too far and a risk for her own freedom. _Think this through, Shara,_ she admonished herself. She had done this before, understanding this plan despite his obvious unwillingness to tell her anything about it. It was easier this time – there was no plan involved. Just something pressing enough to push him to settle for the worst solution possible for the Riverlands.

This something did not come from the Vale, the North or the Reach, or else Margaery would have heard something about it _and_ it would not involve the Riverlands. It obviously did not come from the Westerlands or the Crownlands. The Stormlands were a big unknown, at this point, but they were not unruly or rebellious – just weakened and bickering over Storm’s End. _The Iron Islands?_ There was absolutely no reason for Tywin to make a secret of the Iron Islands’ threats, given that the North had been dealing with them since the earliest days of the war. Then again, it had nothing to do with the Riverlands or the entire realm.

 _Dorne, then._ She remembered the letter on her desk, and Doran’s renewed invitation to the Water Gardens. Dorne had been a thorn in the realm’s side for more than a decade now, why would they do anything _now_? If anything, they would have acted up during the war, not now that it was nearly over. The five kings who battled for the throne were dead now, and there was no pretender left for them to push forward – no Baratheon, no Stark, no other Lannister. For lack of candidate, the war had died out. How would they pose any threat, then?

As she was staring at the blue rose in front of her, listing all the houses that could possibly claim the throne, Shara suddenly remembered Varys’ word in her room, during the storm that sealed both her and Stannis Baratheon’s fate. _I trust you to be clever enough to understand my words soon enough, Lady Shara_ , he had said, speaking about a wheel she had to keep her eyes on.

 _The Targaryen girl._ She froze as she was reaching for her cup and let her hand slowly fall on the table. Varys’ word, Doran’s insistence, Tywin’s haste in ending the war as soon as possible – it all came down to her. _Gods, it makes sense._ If he had heard about her turning her attention to Westeros, then he was already preparing for another war and one cannot wage two wars at once, especially when there are dragons and hordes of savages involved. She closed her eyes for a second and eventually forced a chuckle and a shrug. _Do it cleverly._

 

“Very well,” she said. “If you are not willing to inform me of the realm’s state, I suppose I have no reason to insist.” He darted her a suspicious look. “Well, do not look at me like that. I can admit when I am defeated. Perhaps I should have remained in the Vale, at least I did not have to pretend to be such a good friend to the rose queen.

\- I did not call you back, did I?

\- No, you did not.” She turned her head to look back at him, losing her fake smile. “Or perhaps I should accept prince Doran’s renewed invitation to the Water Gardens. He seems so eager to have me…

\- Prince Doran sent you a letter?

\- That he did,” she continued with a bright smile, sensing that she had just touched a very weak point. “I suppose I could spend the final weeks of my pregnancy in Dorne, it would be…

\- _Enough._ ”

 

He grabbed her wrist and suddenly jumped on his feet, taking her with him. The music immediately stopped and every head turned to look at them. He slowly released her hand and cleared his throat, but the damage was done – those who were clever enough had understood that something was going on. She maintained her calm and composed posture and grabbed the blue rose before following him. _My Lady wife and I are tired,_ he explained stiffly. _But we wish the feast to continue. Please, enjoy the festivities._ The music resumed as they made their way through the now mostly standing and dancing court, and the conversations and laughter accompanied them when they left through the door that led to their apartments.


	37. ... But it can always be undone

He did not say a single word until she closed the door behind her and walked straight to his desk to rummage through a pile of parchments. He read through them one by one, searching for something he could not find. His entire body was tense, from his back to his face, and his shoulders probably were as hard as stone. _Dorne, then,_ she thought. _What have they done?_ Nothing too obvious, otherwise she would know. Nothing too subtle, or Tywin would not have ended a perfectly fine feast in her own honour to drag her to their room.

She crossed her arms and remained silent for a while, until it became obvious that he was not going to say anything before she did. She cleared her throat and dropped her seemingly light-hearted attitude. This was not a time for light-hearted conversations.

 

“So it is Dorne, then,” she cautiously said. “What about them?

\- You have not received any letter from Dorne.” He pushed the parchments away and glared at her. “Have you?

\- I really have. It is in my room, do you want me to bring it here?”

 

He nodded sternly. She did not make any joke about it, she just stormed out the room, went to hers, grabbed the letter and returned. She sat back and handed him the letter. She patiently waited for him to have read it, but there was nothing much to read anyway. It was just an invitation. He slowly put the letter down but kept it in his hand, his fingers twitching around it.

 

“There is no record of a raven from Dorne bringing this letter,” he said. “Where have you found this?

\- With the rest of the letters, on my desk.” She scoffed and shook her head. “Did you have my correspondence read?

\- Not read, listed. This letter was not on the list.

\- Then I suppose someone put it there without you or your agents knowing.”

 

She looked at the letter. There was nothing strange about it – the seal was House Martell’s, the writing looked like prince Doran’s and it looked exactly the way any other letter looked. _Someone put it on my desk without anyone knowing,_ she repeated to herself. But who? This time the answer came immediately. _Varys._ Of course. Who else could it be? She closed her eyes, chuckled and shook her head again.

 

“It has to be Varys,” she said. “Before he ran away with your son.

\- Why him?

\- The Riverlands, your reaction when I mentioned prince Doran, the way you’re clinging unto the letter as if it were a weapon.” She gestured his contorted hand. “It is all about the Targaryen girl, is it not?

\- Answer my question. Why Varys?

\- Is Daenerys Targaryen the reason why we are talking now?”

 

They stared at each other, battling silently. She would not answer until he did – and he would not answer until she did. She never mentioned Varys’ visit, partly because she had forgotten it happened and partly because what he said was simply too much for her to process it entirely. The staring lasted for longer than she thought possible. Eventually, though, he tilted his head. Barely, just enough to be seen; but enough for her to see. _Gods. It is happening._ She took a deep breath and gulped.

She could not name the feeling that washed over her. Dread was part of it. An eerily sense of fate as well, with a hint of inevitability. _Cursed be Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon,_ she mused, _for losing the opportunity to get rid of her when she was still a lost girl with no dragon._ She understood, suddenly, why Tywin was in such a hurry to get rid of the Riverlands’ problem – she could feel the same sense of emergency he probably felt, like there was no time to lose _because war was coming back._ And dragons with it.

 

“Varys came to my room, after we concluded our agreement,” she said, because a simple nod was not enough to answer his question. “Now that I think about it, he probably hoped to find me broken and despaired, so that he could win my support.

\- Your support for whom?

\- He did not say. He just gave me an advice.” She looked at the candle lit on his desk and touched the flame with the tip of her finger. “He told me to keep both of my eyes on the wheel, lest it could turn again and not in my favour.

\- He was talking about her.” He gritted his teeth, even more than he did before. “Robert doomed the realm the day he forgave him.”

 

 _Robert doomed the realm the day he killed Rhaegar,_ she thought. He doomed the realm the day he seized the throne for himself. What could they do about it now? They were now reaping what Robert had sown; grains of rebellion, separation and war. She had _told_ Ned Stark that the girl needed to die, regardless of his ludicrous honour and equivocation – just like she had _told him_ to tell Robert about his children’s true bloodline. In both occasion he refused to listen.

Now both Robert and Eddard Stark were dead, and it was too late to stop the girl. Her dragons must have grown since they all claimed they were but meagre animals. She had the Dothrakis and the Unsullied, entire cities behind her and the former slaves she had freed. _She has dragons, Seven Hells!_

 

“What has she done to attract your attention?” she asked. “I thought you did not consider her a threat.

\- When Rob Stark was attacking from the North and Stannis Baratheon from the West, she was no more a threat than their armies were.” He rose from his seat and paced the room in silence. “She was not supposed to survive her war in Essos.

\- And yet there she is, threatening Westeros. What has she done?

\- Nothing yet.” He paused. “Meereen has been besieged and according to my informants, she was supposed to have flown away on one of her dragon’s back.

\- But the latest report said otherwise, did it not?”

 

He did not reply. She shivered, and it was as much from the cold draft that pervaded in the room as it was from the meaning of his silence. There were many stories and legends about the blood of the dragon. Some said there was a taint in it, the taint that made some Targaryens and some great, and the rest a little bit of both. It fought sickness, it made them dragonriders when none else could ride them. Some people said it was pure, liquid magic flowing through their veins. She was not a believer in this sort of stories – she was not even a believer in the Gods. But the Targaryens… They always were something else, something different from the entire world.

And Tywin Lannister had known the last of them better than most people who still roamed the kingdom. He had been king Aerys’ friend, back when he was not yet a king and back when he was not yet _the mad_ king. He even dubbed him a knight, and became his Hand immediately after he was crowned. He knew the queen, saw his children grow – and it only went downhill after that. Slowly but steadily, all the friendship between the old childhood friend vanished. The Tournament of Lannisport, then later on the Defiance of Duskendale, turned the former brilliant king into the mad, tortured thing history remembered him. _And yet he remained Hand,_ she thought, starting at his dark figure, barely distinguishable from the darkness that surrounded them. _Until the Mad King stole his only son._ Tyrion did not count.

 

“There is another Targaryen in the East,” he eventually voiced. “Someone pretending to be a Targaryen anyway. A boy of eighteen, with blue hair and a man some recognize to be Jon Connington.

\- He is supposed to be dead.” She rose from her seat as well, stunned. “He drunk himself to death in Lys.

\- Daenerys Targaryen was supposed to die in the taking of Meereen by the slavers of Yunkai and now Greyjoy ships are filling her harbour,” he retorted, his voice ice cold, his back still turned on her. “Jon Connington was supposed to be dead in Lys, and yet he was rising Aegon Targaryen who was supposed to have had his head smashed against the Red Keep’s walls fifteen years ago.

\- Have they met? The boy and her?

\- Not yet.”

 

She had started to walk toward him, but she stopped before she reached him. Suddenly, she could not help feeling the way she had felt in her dark cell, almost a year ago now, and the way she had felt after Stannis Baratheon turned against her. _Powerless._ How could it be, that now that the realm was mostly at peace another war was brewing, and that this war was one they could not win? She looked down, looked at her hands. How could it be, that everything they had won was about to turn into ashes?

 _Dorne wants you by their side,_ a tiny voice in her head whispered. Treacherous, shrewd. _You have already changed side once, why not again?_ But she was too far gone now. She had done too much for this side of the war. Perhaps Daenerys Targaryen or the blue-haired boy were stupid enough to think she was a potential ally – but those they travelled with knew Westeros. _Varys told you to keep your eyes on the wheel. It is turning again._ She could do it. She could try; maybe she could survive. Maybe she could help them, or her, or him, and win again.

She was lost in these thoughts when Tywin turned to face her again. His face was completely unshaken, his eyes were gleaming in the dark. It was as if he had not just told her three dragons and full armies were going to wage war against their still disunited and soon covered in frost kingdom – it was as if it did not matter. Until she saw one corner of his lips curling into a cruel smirk.

 

“You are thinking about it, are you not?” She did not even have the time to say anything. He stopped her. “You are. After all, Dorne did invite you again. Mayhap one of the two pretenders could use someone like you, to win them wars without soldiers. That must be what prince Doran is thinking.

\- Would you blame me if I were?

\- No.” He crossed the distance between them and kept on staring at her. “You are playing the game the way you always did.

\- I could escape and head to Dorne. Sell your secrets against my life and watch from afar the Targaryens regaining their thrones.

\- You could, indeed.

\- Should I?”

 

No answer came. _Of course you should,_ she thought. _This is not a war you can win._ No one could win a war against the Targaryens when they had dragons. The North, the Riverlands would follow the Iron Islands’ example, and pledge allegiance to the Dragon queen as soon as they would hear about her and her victories in Essos. If the boy came alone and claimed the throne for himself, some would still follow him and there would be war again – until she arrived and burned the entire kingdom to the ground.

 _Would she come, though?_ They had no met, not yet. She probably ignored that her nephew had survived, and probably considered herself the only Targaryen left. _He has a better claim, if it is indeed him._ Would she be ready to surrender the throne to him? Would she marry him, to strengthen both of their claims? _Or is she truly her father’s daughter, tainted as he was?_ She had no answer to any of these questions; they were just as many doubts, chaotic doubts and as many dangers.

 _But chaos is a ladder._ She remembered Baelish’s words, suddenly, remembered just how much control he used to have over the entire realm. _A ladder to those who know how to climb._ If the two Targaryens had not yet met, then there was one last thing they could try. No one ever killed as many Targaryens as the Targaryens themselves – they called that a dance, when silver-haired and purple-eyed kings, queens, princes and princesses massacred each other. They called that a dance, when dragons killed dragons until none remained.

She started to smile, slowly, as Tywin’s smirk froze a bit. _A Dance of Dragons. This is what we need._ All it would take was a little push, a little help. _Someone willing to win wars without soldiers,_ she thought.

But she did not say anything, not just yet. If she told him, if she said anything – her fate was sealed, forever tied to Tywin Lannister’s. If she fought the Targaryens, if she _truly_ fought them, she would burn with the rest of their enemies. _If I join them, I may survive._ She may survive indeed. _Do I want to survive?_ She had survived for many years. She had survived alongside her father, grappling to even exist. She had survived his death. Meekly, obediently, she had remained in the shadows when Stannis Baratheon ordered her to. She had survived as the Lannisters’ prisoner.

Maybe she was done surviving. Maybe it was time to risk everything – in order to get everything. What was the point of surviving, in a world where everything she had already done meant nothing? Where all the blood on her hands was just that – blood? She wanted more. She wanted _everything_ , everything she promised herself. _Everything_ was not given, even by the Dragon Queen or her blue-haired nephew. It was taken. _I know exactly how far you would go,_ Tywin had told her the night before. _As far as necessary._ And she would. Not matter the price – she would.

 

“Return the Riverlands to the Tullys,” she softly said. “And I shall show you how I play this game.

\- I am going to need more information about you playing the game before I agree to this.

\- Suddenly you no longer trust my way of playing?

\- When it involves the entire realm’s fate and not just your own survival,” he retorted, frowning. “ _Trust_ is not something I can afford.

\- Trust was never something either of us could afford, so I suppose I should not be surprised.”

 

She shrugged and smiled wider. She remained silent for a few seconds, pausing for the effect. Looking at him, she reached for the Hand’s insignia on his chest. It was tilted so she put it straight again. _The symbol of his power._ At least he had one to wear, when he sat on the iron throne instead of the king. It suited him, the throne. The Gods were truly wicked when they made him – a man, so perfectly capable of leading a kingdom, but unable to ever wear the crown.

He would never tell if she asked him, but she wondered if it frustrated him, if he even dreamed of seizing power for himself, crown himself king and end this mascarade. Perhaps he had, when he was younger and saw his first king descend into madness. He was too old now to entertain this kind of fantasy. _What a shame,_ she found herself thinking. _What a queen I would make._

 

“The two pretenders have not yet met, you said.” She looked up again to look back at him. “We should use that. The boy knows about Daenerys, of course, but does she know about him?

\- No, he has not yet revealed his supposed identity.

\- Then maybe we should do something about that. She should know that her nephew also wants the throne she calls her own,” she continued, her smile unwavering. “If history serves, it should not be long before they start to dance.

\- What if they decide to dance together?

\- They will not.”

 

 _I will not let them get the idea,_ was what she meant. He understood, of course. For a time he kept a composed, unshaken face – until a smirk appeared again on his lips. Then only did she know she had won. He did not have any other choice anyway, it was the only thing they could try to stop the Targaryens from coming, together or separately, in a very near future. This would win them time, and time was precisely what they needed to make sure the realm would not desegregate as soon as words of the Targaryen’s return would reach their shores.

 _In the meantime,_ she thought, _we can make sure the realm survives the winter to come._ Use the Tyrells’ reserves, and whatever the Vale could spare to give food to the smallfolk. If they remained well fed during the winter, they would not turn against their own Lords – who, in turn, would be in debt of the crown who _so generously_ gave food to their people. It was not much, but it was a start.

 

“The crown cannot pay more agents in Essos,” he noted. “But it can lend those it already has to someone who could.

\- House Arryn is not wealthy, but it certainly has enough money to pay for more agents. Although they would never know where the money comes from, would they?

\- That would certainly be wiser.”

 

She hated herself for the _warmth_ and _pride_ she felt when he was looking at her the way he was looking at her now. At this very moment she was no longer his former prisoner, or his unwilling wife, or a talkative burden he barely accepted. She was someone worth listening to. _An equal,_ if such thing existed with Tywin Lannister. She hated it, but at the same time, it felt like she was _finally_ getting what she had been yearning for her entire life. Power was something she started to seek quite late, a few months ago – but this? This was what she always hoped to see. _Acknowledgement._ Understanding. _Someone impressed, and willing to listen._ And this someone, of all people, was Tywin Lannister.

And suddenly it was all worth it. The terrible choices, the horrible consequences, the betrayal, the blood, the battles, the war, the pain and her tainted honour – because it all came down to this, to Tywin Lannister listening to her and heeding her words. It was intoxicating, and it was terrifying. But it was all worth it.

 

“To think,” he said in a quiet, eerily calm voice. “You were there all along, hiding in the shadows and waiting for your time to come. The war could have been so much shorter if you had chosen the right side from the beginning.

\- I would have won this war for Stannis Baratheon if he had not made the terrible mistake of listening to Baelish.

\- Oh, you would have.” He reached for her jaw and cupped her face in his palm. She raised her chin. “And I am starting to think that you might have managed to make an actual king out of him, despite the odds.

\- I would have had your head too.

\- A good thing you changed side, then.”

 

They exchanged a secretive, intent look. _If anyone can win this war,_ she thought. _It is us._ She did not lean unto his touch, she remained perfectly still as one of his fingers followed the line of her jaw. He remained like this for a few more seconds before he broke away from her and sat at his desk again, lighting another candle. She slowly sat as well and watched him write something on a parchment. From where she stood she could not quite read it, but it did not look like a letter. He stopped in the middle of a sentence and glanced at her.

 

“You are not going to the Riverlands yourself,” he said. His tone demanded no contradiction. “Not in your state.

\- I was not expecting to go there myself.” She shrugged. “I have enough things to do from here.

\- Who were you thinking about, then?

\- Ser Jaime. He is brighter than what you give him credit for,” she added before he could say anything. “I can hardly see anyone else leading the negotiations. Your Fat Flower would sooner claim Riverrun for one of his sons than give it back to the Tullys. Paxter Redwyne and Mathis Towan only obeys their Lord’s command.

\- You seem to forget that Kevan also sits at the small council.

\- Rest assured, I do not. Ser Kevan is one of your only competent advisors and sending him away would reduce His majesty’ council to three mostly incompetent Lords, an old and withering Grandmaester and a few empty seats.”

 

 _And I need him to take Robert as his ward,_ she kept for herself. She hardly knew her husband’s brother, but given how incompetent the rest of the small council was, it was not too much of a reach to consider him the only useful member of this glorified assembly of old men. Tywin remained silent for a while, and resumed his writing. He finished his writing, dried the ink, folded the parchment and sealed it with the royal stamp. He placed it in front of her and looked at her again, a strange shine in his eyes.

 

“It is your demand,” he said, staring right at her. “So it is only natural that you should give the order.

\- I do not think…

\- You just said my son was the best negotiator you could think of. You chose him, so you instruct him.”

 

 _Does he know?_ No, of course not. If he did, he would have done something already. Jaime would not be stupid enough to use _that_ against her, when it could harm him just as much. _What does he know?_ Perhaps he knew nothing at all, and just wanted her to deal with her own scheme, like he did with Sansa Stark.

 _He suspects something._ That was absolutely sure. He could not know, because no one knew except the two of them and they remained silent, for their own benefits as well as the other’s – although she would not have bet that Jaime really wished to protect her still. But he had heard his son, he knew that he was hiding something from him. He even asked her.

But he was not going to listen to her. If he understood that she was the one behind the plan, he would refuse to obey. _Would he, though?_ Jaime was not stupid, and he was not as selfish as she had believed him to be for so long. It was a matter of life and death, quite literally. If she could get him to understand that… Then maybe he would set aside what happened, and focused on the realm. But it was a huge maybe.

 

“Very well,” she replied with a smile. “I cannot promise he will listen, though. He considers me personally responsible for your daughter’s marriage.

\- If Jaime is as capable as you say he is, he should be able to make a difference between you and the realm’s sake.” He pushed the letter to her and rose from his seat, unfastening his doublet already. He froze while doing so and turned his head toward her. “No word of anything that was discussed in this room tonight shall ever be heard outside these walls.

\- Of course.”

 

 _Let us hope he sees the threat,_ she mused. _Without me telling him where to look._


	38. And they will dance

Much to her surprise, no courtier commented on their sudden decision to leave the feast the following day. As they got installed in the tribune of honour, at the very end of the lists, some of them were staring more insistently than they usually did but no word reached her. The tourney organized by the crown was not nearly as big as the Hand’s had been, of course, given that only the knights who were already in King’s Landing or in the nearby cities and towns attended. No knights from the Reach, except for those who were part of Lord Mace’s retinues, were enlisted. She had allowed her own guard to attend, even though none of them were _knights_ per se.

But it was still a full tourney, with all the traditional competitions. There would be jousting for most of the day, then the archery contest would begin. A great melee would end the tourney the next day. Shara hardly cares for this kind of spectacle, but she knew that the court adored them, and it had been long since a tourney had actually been organized. It was still supposed to be held in her honour, so obviously she had to attend.

Her guard was not going to compete in the jousting, because they had never done this before, but all of them wished to be part of the melee. As for those who actually competed, she did not know every knight but most of the sworn brother were amongst them. Ser Arys Oakheart, Ser Osmund Kettleblack, Ser Balon Swann, Ser Jonas Foote and Ser Tanton Fossoway of Cider Hall were standing by the list, waiting for their turn to compete. She eyed Ser Foote and Ser Fossoway, the two newest sworn brother. Both of them had been named by Tywin himself, the first to honour his father who had slayed what remained of House Caron during the Battle of the Blackwater and the second to tie him and his house to the crown, despite his first allegiance to Renly Baratheon. The two of them were rather young men, and rather uninterested by their duties if the rumours were to be believed.

Ser Meryn Trant and Jaime were standing by the tribune to guard the royal family, their back turned on them, staring at the list in front of them. They were already there when Tywin and her arrived. She did not comment on their presence and tried to sit as comfortably as she could. This was going to take the entire day – and she was already bored.

 

“If I had known,” she sighed as the first competitors entered the list. “I would have taken a knight or two from the Eyrie with me. At least someone would have worn other colours than red or green.

\- Your guard is going to attend the melee, are they not?” He was barely looking, probably just as uninterested as she was. She nodded. “Why did you choose them amongst the soldiers, and not amongst your bannermen?

\- Because I trust very few of them, none of which able to follow me here.

\- There is an empty position within the Kingsguard. Perhaps we could arrange to have a Valeman named,” he commented. She side-glanced at him. “Your father had Ser Mandon Moore when he came to King’s Landing himself, after all.”

 

She considered his proposal for a few seconds. _Lord Grafton has more than one son,_ she thought. He had yielded to Petyr Baelish in the earliest days of his petty uprising, and she had warned him that her trust in him was soiled. It would not cause any lasting damage to his house if she demanded him to send his second son to King’s Landing to become a sworn brother. She nodded, both to herself and to Tywin, and promised herself to think about it.

The first joust was pretty disappointing. Both of the riders fell at the exact same time, and there was a dispute regarding who had to be considered the winner. She completely lost her focus and let her mind wander. She still had not talked to Maester Rubben again, something he was probably going to blame her for. She felt better, though, and stronger than she had for weeks. Her stomach never seemed to stop swelling, though, and she could not help worrying that she might be closer to term than they both originally thought. She had recently started to feel kicks, at night mostly, and movements inside of her, but she had not mentioned it to anyone. Given the situation, this kind of things only reminded her that she was not just going to fight a shadow war against the Targaryens – she was already fighting a war against herself. She tried to shrug off the worry but it was too late; she had not yet mentioned that either.

 

“You will return to my room during the archery contest,” he said, cutting short her line of thoughts. “And instruct Ser Jaime of his mission in the Riverlands.

\- This tourney is supposed to be held in my honour.” She frowned. “I should not leave in the middle of it.

\- You are a heavily pregnant woman whose disinterest for tourneys is hardly mistakable, no one will hold you accountable for that.

\- That you think.” She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. “I suppose he does not know that I will give him the order?”

She interpreted his silence as a yes. She already knew what was going to happen – he was going to storm out of the room as soon as he would understand that not only was she the one to give him his orders, but she was also the mind behind the entire plan. She spent the rest of the first rounds of jousting trying to find the best way to convince him to listen to her and keep to her plan, but she knew that it was in vain. She was not even sure that he would agree to accomplish his mission if he knew the actual reason behind the plan and Tywin’s change of mind.

Lost in the turmoil of her only too vivid imagination, she hardly realized that the jousting part of the tourney was done and that squires and soldiers were placing the targets for the archery contest. Tywin had to remind her of _her meeting with Maester Rubben_ for her to actually understand that she had to return to the tower of the Hand. Jaime was already gone, replaced by Ser Balon Swann who had been defeated by one of his sworn brother, Ser Arys. She rose from her seat, apologized to Margaery who graciously told her that some things were more important than archery. The little gleam in her eyes let her understand that she was no fool, and that she knew something was up. _This is not the kind of things I can share,_ she thought as she curtsied and left the lists. _For your sake as well as mine._

She headed for the tower, followed by Ser Balon himself. He stopped when they reached the doorstep and returned to the list in silence as she started to climb the stairs that led to the Hand’s apartments. She took a deep breath, tried to clear her mind best as she could. Suddenly waging war against the Targaryens, their dragons and their armies seemed easier than talk to Jaime again, alone in a room with no one around to hear whatever painful truth he could throw at her. She would have given everything for someone else to do it – but then again, if she had refused, Tywin would have understood that there was more than just antagonism between his son and his wife. Although not a genius when it came to feelings, putting two and two together would not take long and she had no wish to know what he would make of the information.

She sent the soldier who guarded the door away, pretending it was a direct order from the Lord Hand. He seemed to hesitate, but when he saw her glare he practically ran away and climbed down the stairs, leaving her alone with Jaime on the other side of the door. She composed herself, took a deep breath, and entered.

He was standing by the window near Tywin’s desk, looking at the lists underneath. He did not immediately turn to greet her, he just eyed the door and frowned when he realized she was not who he was expecting. She slowly made her way to him and remained a few steps away, cautious. His eyes had turned ice cold and he kept on looking at the door, seemingly expecting his father to enter the room at any time.

 

“Where is my father?

\- At the tourney, watching the archery contest,” she replied. “He sent me.

\- Did he, now? Since when is Lord Tywin so impassioned in archery that he sends his wife to stand me up?

\- You have misunderstood me. He sent me to give you the details about your mission in the Riverlands, not stand you up.”

 

Something shifted in his eyes and he started to chuckle nervously. He shook his head and turned to her, crossing part of the distance that separated them. There was absolutely no trace of humour in his eyes, no smile and absolutely no willingness to listen to what she had to say. He smirked bitterly and cruelly as he looked down at her.

 

“Perhaps Baelish was right when he said you had my father wrapped around your finger,” he hissed. “How come he now trusts you enough to give orders at his stead?

\- He does not. This is not a mark of trust, this is a proof that despite your attempts to hide the truth from him, he knows something happens in the Vale.” She kept a straight face, ignoring the hideous mask of mockery and cruelty he wore. “As the plan is mine, he lets me bear the responsibility of his success, or lack thereof.

\- I take it you have finally managed to convince him not to surrender Riverrun to the Freys. Congratulations. How much did it cost, this time? How many lives?

\- This is a serious matter, Jaime. This is not about you or me.

\- But of course it is. When is something not about you?”

 

She took the blow and closed her eyes for a second. She kept her composure and slowly sat in the seat in front of the desk. She could not seat in Tywin’s seat, and she would not. Jaime remained standing, his arms crossed on his chest, his cruel smirk still plastered on his face. She took a deep breath and continued.

 

“Your father has just recognized that keeping the realm together before winter comes is paramount. Gifting the Riverlands to the Freys will only delay the problem,” she slowly said. “And cause another war.

\- How adequate that you came to that conclusion and not him. What is it you gain in this plan?

\- I just wish to keep the realm…

\- Do not give me that, Shara. It is your favourite lie, I know, and it does work on this court and yours,” he interrupted her, his smile completely vanished. “But you never cared about the realm, and if you did, it was never enough of a reason for you to act.

\- It should be enough for you. If you can convince the Tullys to pledge allegiance to the crown…

\- Not in a million year.”

 

She quieted, stunned. He had not raised his voice, he did not sound angered – he just very plainly said an foregone conclusion, something so obvious that he should not even have said it at all. She looked down, at the parchments on Tywin’s desk. None of them were truly important, or else he would have hidden them. She recognized the Tyrell seal on one of them as she tried to find a way to reply to Jaime.

But she truly found no way to reply to his plain statement of facts. She _knew_ that she told him the truth about the Targaryens in Essos, he would probably understand that _this was not about him, about her or about the both of them._ But she could not tell him. The more people knew, the more likely it was that her plan would be thwarted. There were too many unknown elements with the Targaryen side – they still ignored where Varys and Tyrion had gone, and although she suspected they both joined one of the Targaryen, she could not possibly know which one. The two of them were more of a direct threat to her plan than the dragons they were defending, and the smallest hint could foil the entire scheme.

 _But he is not anyone,_ her mind whispered. _He would not tell a soul._ Would he, though? Jaime Lannister was no longer the boy he was, when he killed the king he swore to protect to save an entire city. An entire lifetime had happened since then. He had fought other wars, all of them because he obeyed the orders he was given. The boy was long gone, and perhaps the sacrifice as well. What remained of the boy… What remained of it, she made sure to destroy it, reduce it to ashes and blow them off in the wind. Maybe this time Jaime Lannister would decide to disregard the sake of the realm, the orders he was given – maybe this time he would just go away and only answer to the gods. _And I would not even be able to blame him if he did._

 

“Ha,” he scoffed bitterly as he walked around the table to look at the parchments, pushing the armchair away. “This is what it takes to leave you speechless, refuse to take part in your schemes. To be honest, I am surprised you even accepted to tell me what my part in this truly was. Usually you wait until it is too late.

\- Selfishness does not suit you.

\- It suits me better than foolishness anyway. I was not expecting you to appreciate that, though.

\- It is all very well for you to refuse to even listen.” She bit her lip and rose from her seat to face him again. _Maybe I can just hint._ “I hope selfishness will serve you just as well when you have to face yourself when the realm is drenched in fire and blood.

\- You think you have rose so high, became so very important and so very powerful,” he retorted, his eyes suddenly set aflame. “When all you have done is reach another level of lowness.”

 

He released the parchment he was reading and remained still for a second. In his eyes she saw everything words could not express – just how much _hatred_ he had for her, how much _anger_ as well. How much he regretted revealing the truth of what happened in the throne room this night, and how much he wished he had never ever talked to her. She withstood it all, ignoring _the pain_ that she hoped had subsided.

He then brushed past her and headed straight for the door. In the mere seconds it took for him to reach the door, Shara’s mind got lost in a maze of conflicting thoughts. _I have to stop him. I have to tell him. If he goes now he is gone forever. I need him to do it. We need him. The realm. Gods if he leaves now I have lost him forever. I have lost him already. The realm. The Targaryens…_ Not really realizing it at first, she turned and followed him, stopping a few steps away from him when he grabbed the handle to leave. _If he goes now this is all over._ She did not need to what “all” meant in her mind. She just needed to act, now.

 

“Fire and blood, Jaime,” she said before he closed the door behind him. It froze. “Is that really what you want the realm to go through again?

\- Even for you, this is…

\- Winter is not the only thing that is coming to Westeros.”

 

The door did not move, for a while. Then it moved, when Jaime returned inside and closed it behind him. The fire in his eyes had died down, replaced by a quiet yet worried suspiciousness. They seemed to mean _it cannot be, of course it cannot. Can it?_ She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She felt faint suddenly, light-headed, and she clung unto the nearest console table not to fall. She heard Jaime’s steps but gestured him to stay away. _I am fine,_ she wanted to say. _Just exhausted. In disarray, exhausted and troubled._

She remained like this for a second and opened her eyes again when the faintness had subsided. Jaime was staring at her, his hand frozen in mid-air as if he was about to seize her, his eyes filled with an amount of _worry_ she had not seen since… She shrugged off the memory when his gaze shifted and returned to his former suspicious self and when he turned away.

 

“If this is one of your wicked ways…

\- It is not.” She cleared her throat when her voice came out hoarse. “Daenerys Targaryen is turning her eyes on Westeros now that she is done with Meereen. Somewhere in the east, a boy pretends to be Aegon, son of Rhaegar.

\- Nonsense,” he retorted. “Aegon died. We all saw his body.

\- You saw the body of a baby bashed into the wall.” He shot her the darkest glance he could possibly shoot. She shook her head. “Regardless, the both of them are gaining supporters in Essos.

\- How come no one knows?

\- Ask your father.”

 

He shook his head and ran a hand on his jaw. She remained still, mostly because she still felt faint and was not entirely sure she would not collapse if she tried to follow him or if she let go of the table. _I really need to see Maester Rubben,_ she thought. She took a deep breath and waited for Jaime to stop pacing the room and face her again to continue.

 

“We cannot possibly know when either or both of them will actually make their first move, so we need to get ready as fast as possible.

\- How is your plan relevant? The Tullys will defect as soon as they hear about the Targaryens, with or without Riverrun.

\- Perhaps, but we may be able to keep the kingdom together a bit longer if they remain liege of the Riverlands,” she continued. “At least their bannermen will not immediately have a reason to defect, especially if we keep them well fed during winter.

\- You unit the realm, but you disunite the Riverlands? So very Lannister of you. I am sure my father appreciated your plan.

\- He appreciates it enough to allow it and change his initial plan. Do you understand, now, why this has nothing to do with you or with me?”

 

He did not answer, of course, but he did understand. The way he lingered in the room and did not quite resume his pacing were enough of a proof that he was already thinking about his mission. _I may be an open book to you,_ she thought to herself. _But you are becoming one too._ Feigning she was just getting comfortable, she headed for the nearest armchair and sat again. The way she sat, though, attracted his attention more than it deflected it – she practically fell unto the seat. She remained composed and took a deep breath until her vision became clear again.

He was staring at her now. The sheer and genuine worry in his eyes had disappeared, replaced by a frown. She stared back, unshaken. She had nothing to explain. He had all the answer to all the questions. He knew exactly how much stress and danger she had put herself through in the Vale, and how dangerous it was. There was no use in discussing it any further, especially as he knew how terrified she was when she allowed herself to think about it.

 

“How can I be certain this is not one of _his_ lies?” he asked, but his tone was not as assured as it had been. “Perhaps he fooled you, this time. Perhaps there is no Daenerys Targaryen or whoever the boy-pretender may be in Essos, working to return to Westeros.

\- Varys told me about her before he vanished with your brother.” His frown deepened. “In veiled terms. I have just understood what he meant, back then.

\- Can anyone in this castle speak clearly, or does the secrecy come with the atmosphere?

\- I cannot be clearer, Jaime. The realm needs to stand united, and the Freys will never achieve unity in the Riverlands.” She frowned as well and shook her head. “I told you before, and I have not changed my mind, that the mere idea of them holding Riverrun sickens me. Your father will deal with them and you will deal with the Tullys.

\- Who will you deal with, then?”

 

 _Shadows. Ghosts._ She did not answer, of course. He needed not to know this part of the plan. When he understood she was not going to give him an answer, he scoffed and chuckled lowly. _Secrets and lies._ Disguised letters, going from hand to hand to other hands until no one remembered where the letter came from and who wrote it. As many letters as necessary until the nephew rose against the aunt, or the aunt against the nephews. Then only would her mission be complete, and peace achieved. _For a time,_ a sly voice whispered in her ear. _However short._

Perhaps they would kill each other in the process, effectively wiping House Targaryen off the chessboard. She could only hope, though, and hope could only go so far in their wretched world. She remained silent for as long as Jaime did, and he was the first to speak again. His voice was not as mocking as she though it would be. Not as aggressive either. Just tired. _Exhausted._

 

“Why are you still there?

\- I will not leave until you swear…

\- You know this is not what I mean.” He made a few steps toward her, gesturing her entire body. “You may still travel, although I am not sure you will be able to do it much longer. Remaining here, standing by his side, you are signing your death warrant. And you know that, of course. So why are you still there?

\- I went too far to cower now, did I not?

\- That is just rhetoric. There is no winning against a dragon, so three?” he scoffed and a crooked smirk curled his lips. “Perhaps _I_ should defect and join one of them. At least I would not have to get bogged down in the Riverlands and freeze to death when winter is here.

\- You? The man who killed the king you swore to protect, their father and grandfather?” She was speaking tiredly. The words were harsh, but her voice was not. “The man who could not protect princess Elia and little Rhaenys? You, the son of Tywin Lannister who sacked King’s Landing and never punished those who plundered and destroyed what remained of House Targaryen?”

 

His beautiful green eyes darkened, but not with anger. She was just voicing truths. Hard, bitter truths, but truths nonetheless. He was as good as dead if these Targaryens, or even just one of them, reached their shores and invaded their lands. _Just as I am now,_ she thought. Maybe it was House Lannister’s common lot, to be doomed to fall if ever House Targaryen managed to rise again. It was her duty to make sure it never did.

 

“You and I, as well as your father and your son on his fancy throne, and his wife with her fancy crown,” she continued, just as tiredly. “Our lives are all forfeit now and shall remain so until the Targaryens are either ghosts or kings and queens.

\- I suppose your mission is to ensure that they turn into ghosts and not monarchs, then.

\- It is best for the both of us if you ignore what my mission is.

\- Of course.” He shook his head, but his mockery could not hide his own weariness. “When am I to leave?

\- In a fortnight. A regiment of Lannister soldiers has already left King’s Landing for the Riverlands, you shall join them.” She paused. “You have full permission to negotiate in any ways and with any means you consider necessary. It includes Lady Lysa, that I am willing to send back to Riverrun safe and sound.”

 

She gestured a piece of parchment on Tywin’s desk for him to take. She had written it while getting ready of the tourney – it was just a written commitment to give Lady Lysa Arryn, née Tully, back to her brother and uncle if they accepted to pledge allegiance to the crown. It did not include her goodbrother, for she still hoped to send him away as a ward, but it also included any member of her goodmother’s retinue that might be part of a Riverland house as well. It was not sealed yet, but it was signed. _Lady Shara Lannister, born Arryn, Warden of the East and Lady of the Eyrie._  

 

“What a grand sacrifice you are making for the realm’s sake,” he commented as he put the parchment back on his father’s desk. He stared at her for a long time. “I hope my father’s promises are worth what you are risking.

\- This is not my first gamble, Jaime.

\- I suppose it is not.” He looked outside, at the lists, before looking at her again. “You should have remained in your mountains. You are nothing for the Targaryens, and with your talent, you may have even managed to convince them that you were a victim all along.

\- Not with Varys and probably Tyrion working for them, no.

\- You moved bigger mountains than the both of them before.”

 

They stared at each other for a long, long time. _We should have remained in my mountains indeed,_ she thought. At the top of the world, where nothing and no one could reach them except dragons. Tywin could have screamed, and ordered, and battled, he could have never compelled them to go down again. _But I suppose it all went down without his help._ She smiled, both to herself and to him, and shrugged. It was too late now. Everything they had in the mountains remained there, and the chances were running thin that they would ever return.

 

“The stakes just rose, Jaime,” she softly said. “Staying safe is no longer an option.

\- Oh but it is. But you said it yourself, when we were there: you forget what you have and you figure it cannot be enough. When you remember, it is too late.

\- I also told you that I can only regret that I cannot settle for what I have.

\- You did.” He took a deep breath and turned away. He headed for the door, slowly this time, and only looked back when he reached it. He detailed for a while before speaking last. “The entire realm should pray the Seven that your gamble is successful. If it is not, then let them be merciful, because the Targaryens will not be.”

 

He left and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone on her seat. She put a slightly trembling hand on her swollen belly when she felt a twitch inside. _Let them be merciful,_ she thought, _because I will not be._ But even in her mind it sounded wrong. They were long gone mercy now, and if the dragon kept his two head, none of them would keep theirs. _Let them dance._ Fire and blood would come to them before it came to Westeros. _Let them dance._


	39. Glory, chaos and despair

The festivities were truly as lavish as Margaery promised they would be. There were feasts every evening until the tourney was over, and each one of them was grander than the one before. She learned that all the food came from the Reach, courtesy of House Tyrell, as well as the money that payed for the entire celebrations. Although Tywin refused to speak about it, she knew that it could not please him to be financially tied to the Reach – especially for matters as vain as celebrations.

She did not quite enjoy it as much as she should have, and for more reasons than just one. She had already started to write to Tywin’s agents to ask them to recruit as many local spies as they could so that they could in turn recruit spies and so on so forth until they considered that the last agents could not possibly know who started the line, so her mind was very far from the tourney, the jousting and the music. Since she had felt faint for the first time in Tywin’s office, the sudden  exhaustion returned more than once; but it was not just tiredness. She had just as much sleep as she needed, given that she now slept in her own room. She was no longer climbing mountains or fighting battles.

She did not even realize Ser Arys had named Margaery queen of love and beauty, as he won the tourney until she saw her crowning herself with the golden flowers he gave her. The court swooned and applauded, and she only imitated them out of sheer reflex. Some eyed her insistently, as if expecting her to look bitter, disappointed or jealous. _What would I make of a flowery wreath?_ She smiled wider and embraced the queen when she turned to her. She then attended the melee because part of her guard participated, but her mind was entirely elsewhere. No Valeman won anyway, but at least none died.

As she was standing on her balcony, watching King’s Landing’s harbour and the ships inside, she enjoyed the few moments of peace she was allowed now that the celebrations were over. A hunt had been organized in the Kingswood, and most of the court had followed the Lord Hand and the king himself – who probably would not hunt anything, of course, but wanted to attend. The queen had followed as well. She had been excused, given her state, and although she feigned sadness, she had never been more grateful in her entire life.

She had had Master Rubben fetched, so she could finally see him now that neither Tywin nor Jaime nor anyone else could interrupt him. _It is so peaceful,_ she thought as she contemplated the city proper. It was still early in the day and King’s Landing was still slumberous. The Red Keep itself was still, frozen in time as if expecting its king’s return. _Tommen, or another._ A cold wind blew, this morning, one that had probably not blown over the Red Keep for decades, so she was wearing some of the furs she had taken from the Eyrie.

 

“My Lady?” she heard behind her after a while. “You had me sought?

\- I believe you said you wanted to see me?

\- A week ago, my Lady, but I suppose it is better late than never.

\- I have had quite a busy week.” She turned and returned to her bedroom. She closed the windows behind her and watched him bow down. “Have you enjoyed Her majesty’s festivities?

\- They were grand, but I must say I do not think I belong in this kind of merrymaking.

\- Ha, but no one does. We simply pretend we do.”

 

She smiled and took off her furs and coat. Maester Rubben was staring at her inquisitively. Oh, she knew what he saw – he saw that she was paler than she was when they arrived, that her eyes were more circled and that she looked a lot more tired. But it did not take a full chain to see that. It was only a matter of time before Tywin himself noticed it and took action, with or without her approval.

She was only wearing an elaborate nightshirt, thin and without any corset so that he could inspect whatever he had to inspect. He gestured her to lie down on her bed so that he could touch her stomach, press it, listen to whatever was happening inside with his strange instruments. Very solemnly, he inspected her breast, listened to her heart, counted the beatings… She let him do everything he had to do, absentmindedly. She had no idea what he was searching for exactly and it was not always comfortable, but at least it was him, and not lecherous Pycelle.

 

“Grandmaester Pycelle asked me about your state,” he commented as he examined her swollen stomach again. “He also said you never replied to the messages he left you.

\- No, indeed. I do not wish to see him.

\- He considers it his duty to look after the royal family. Some would consider him to be quite right.

\- Would you want this old man to probe and touch and inspect your entire body, if you were me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. She saw the corner of his lips twitching. “Well?

\- I suppose I would not want that, no.”

 

 _For good reasons._ When he was done, he grabbed some sort of a book and wrote a few lines on it. She tried to read but he was too far from her. He remained silent for a while, reflecting on what he was writing and sometimes shooting glances at her. Deep inside, she knew that everything was not alright, and that it could only mean that she was getting much nearer to term than she thought – or that she was sick, or weak, or dying, or the three things at once. The babe still kicked, though, so she guessed at least he or she was right.

She placed a hand over her stomach, caressing it thoughtfully. It was getting cumbersome and even her mother and goodmother’s dresses seemed to be getting tight. _You better be strong,_ she thought to herself. _In this world, anything else is not enough to survive._

 

“How are you feeling?

\- Quite fine.” She had replied automatically, without thinking that now was probably the time to be honest. “If a bit tired.

\- I suppose that this is the reason why the Lord Hand has not yet ordered me to keep you locked in your room,” he retorted, frowning. “Is this really enough to convince him?

\- He has more important things to do than enquire about my health, so I suppose the answer is yes.

\- He would probably like to know that your term might come a lot earlier than we thought, would he not?”

 

She closed her eyes for a second. She could not deny – it was entirely possible that they were mistaken since the very beginning about how far in the pregnancy she was when he diagnosed it, but it was not that surprising. She had heard stories, about women who spent the nine months in blissful ignorance of their true state, only to give birth in the middle of a night to fully formed and healthy babes. This would not happen to her, but given how quickly her stomach swell after he announced her the reason of her physical weakness… She might be more like these women than she thought.

 

“How much earlier?

\- It is hard to tell, my Lady. Your pregnancy is not the most conventional one, and you did not spare yourself anything since its very beginning.” There was a hint of reproach in his eyes, but not in his voice. If anything, he was trying to look comprehensive. “I would advise you to stop fluttering around until your term comes.

\- I suppose even you can understand that I could not just ignore that celebrations were organized in my name this week. Call that fluttering if you will.

\- What I can or cannot understand hardly matters, my Lady. If I must resort to your husband to keep you safe, you must know that I will.”

 

 _Why of course you would,_ she thought bitterly. She glared at him but, obviously, there was no use. He could not possibly care less, because he was a maester and his duty was to make sure she and the child survived. She sat on the edge of the bed and ran a tired hand across her face.

She did not need to _flutter around_ to send and receive letters. She could do it all from here, maybe even from her bed. Essos was a sea away from Westeros, but the ravens made the journey for her. As for her new _friendship_ with Margaery, she would certainly accept to come to her room herself if she knew that it was a matter of health. It was truly the first time in months that she could really keep herself safe while doing everything she had to do.

But she did not feel safe – because she was not, was she? If she died, all the letters she had already sent and all the money she had already given, all the agents already recruited and the whispers already spreading, what would they be for? If she were gone in a matter of weeks or months, who could ensure her full plan came to fruition? The whispers would vanish in thin air, blown away by the wind and dragons’ wings. _And the Targaryens would come together and destroy everything I tried to build._

Would there even be someone to remember this, when the Red Keep burns and crumbles? Would there be someone left to remember her, and her name, and who she was, and what she did? She touched her stomach and gulped. If she had to die so that this child could live, would anyone even try to save them, or would they be another Aegon, another Rhaenys, bashed against a wall and buried in a secret tomb? _Better if the both of us die,_ she thought. _Tywin could not protect you more than he could protect himself._ He would be the first to fall, then everyone else would follow.

 

“My Lady?” she heard, torn away from her disturbing thoughts. “Are you alright?

\- You should not ask this kind of question, lest you get a truthful answer.

\- A truthful answer is precisely what I want.

\- Then no, Maester, I am not alright.” She darted her eyes in his, her voice colder than a second before. “I may die in a week, a fortnight, a month. Even if I were to die in order for my child to be born, there is no telling they would not die with me still. How could I be alright?

\- You know that I would do everything in my power to prevent that.

\- You are not the only one involved, Maester.”

 

His gaze shifted. Had he already seen this kind of things before? A dying woman, a husband willing to have a heir more than anything, a lot of blood – and one question, asked low enough for the woman not to hear, with one answer barely whispered at all. _Would he choose the child?_ No one could answer that question for her. _Would he choose me?_ It sounded ridiculous. Tywin Lannister would not choose a woman, whoever that woman was. He would not choose a man, or a child, or anything or anyone when a potential heir is at stake.

It was such a terrible thing to think about, she realized. Tywin Lannister trusted her enough to practically surrender the realm’s fate unto her hands; but that would not change anything. _Or would it?_ She closed her eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath, before she stood up and headed for the balcony again. Maester Rubben followed, this time.

 

“Are you well versed in the Gods’ ways, Maester?” she asked when they both reached the barrier. “Or is it the only thing they do not teach you at the Citadel?

\- We are not septons, my Lady, but I suppose I know as much as any other man.

\- Do you believe in the Gods?” She turned her head to look at him. “You are a man of science, a knight of the mind. Is there such a thing as faith for someone who knows as much as you do about the world?

\- I know not, my Lady. I know that the stars slightly move every night, that the sun goes down for the moon to rise. I know that summer always follows winter, and there is always a summer before every winter. I have seen some plants heal, and some kill.” He paused and looked at the harbour. “But I cannot say if any of that is the Gods’ will in action.

\- How rational.”

 

She smirked and looked at his chain. There were many links, in a lot of metals. It was not nearly as long as Pycelle’s, of course – he was wearing every kind of metals around his neck, including the most prized Valyrian steel link. Maester Rubben did not have it, but he had one made of black iron, one made of red gold, two made of bronze, two of yellow gold, three made of silver and others she could not really name. _Ravenry, history, economics, medicine._ And probably some of herblore and meteorology, as usual for Maesters.

But he seemed not have any of the links to figure any knowledge of occult, magic or prophecy. He did not strike her as the kind of men to believe in this sort of things anyway. He had been sent in a small castle, to serve a small Lord – he was not supposed to end up in King’s Landing at her service. _He is not nobleborn._ Perhaps he was a bastard, but he was more likely baseborn, hence his discomfort with the celebrations. Hence his truthfulness and his disregard for conventions.

 

“Did you have a question, my Lady?” he asked, looking at her again. “Or were you juste enquiring on my faith?

\- I have very little faith in the Gods myself. In their involvement in our lives, at least. But sometimes I cannot help but think we truly are the pawns of the wicked game they are playing.” She lost her smile and look at the city underneath. “Or could it be that the world is so chaotic that it is possible to rise so high, only to fall so hard?

\- History is full of this kind of stories. The Gods have nothing to do with our shortcomings and our weaknesses, both mental and physical,” he replied, very cautiously, weighting his every word. “But I feel that you are no longer speaking only of your pregnancy, my Lady.”

 

 _How clever_. She shook her head. He did not insist, of course – it was not his place. What he believed, she could not tell. He could not possibly know the truth anyway, and for all he knew, she was just terrified of dying. _And I am._ But she was terrified of a lot of things, lately, because the entire world seemed to grow more and more threatening with time. Winter was coming, dragons were too. There were rumours of things happening, north of the Wall. One war had just ended – another one was brewing.

 

“Ser Jaime Lannister sought me,” he eventually said. “He asked after you, and said you looked tired the last time he spoke to you.

\- Did he, now?

\- It took quite a while before he came to that, actually.” She heard the innuendo, of course. _He tried to hide his worry best he could._ “Should I expect Her majesty to come as well?

\- It is unlikely, but it seems that more people worry about me than I know. So, who knows, really?”

 

She scoffed and so did he. His eyes did not leave her, though, as if he had hoped mentioning Jaime Lannister’s odd behaviour would help him understand some hidden secrets of her. He seemed almost disappointed to see nothing. _What were you expecting, really?_ That she would dissolve into tears and tell him all about what happened in the Eyrie, on their way to the castle, and in Saltpans? She was quite certain he already had a lot of doubts about her and about him, and just as many questions he could not possibly ask. Though she had no reason to believe he would willingly betray her, she could not risk it – especially as it had nothing to do with her health.

Unwilling to dodge another one of his attempts to understand what she was hiding from him, she turned to him, smiling, and tilted her head. Surprised by her sudden change of behaviour, he frowned and almost stepped back. His composure probably was the only thing that kept him from doing it. His chain clinked around his neck as he shifted his weight. _Ha,_ she thought. _Now who is uncomfortable, hm?_

 

“You are awfully curious for a Maester, are you not?” she asked. “What were you hoping to learn?

\- Nothing, my Lady. I simply thought you would want to…

\- Spare me the pleasantries. Your blunt honesty is the reason why you are here.

\- When I first met you, my Lady, you seemed close to him. When I joined you on the ship that departed from Saltpans, it was as if you had never met before.” He shrugged, suddenly looking like a young girl caught while spreading rumours. “When I studied medicine, I came to learn that a good health also depends on a good moral.

\- So you are also worried about my good moral regarding Ser Jaime, then?”

 

The man would probably have blushed in shame, if his composure was not so unshakable. He remained still and did not make a single sound or a single move; he truly looked like a doe surrounded by hounds. _Let us hope the beasts they are hunting in the Kingswood are more appetizing than this one._ Not that Maester Rubben was an ugly man. He was still young and his flaming red hair, although cut short, made his otherwise stern appearance more interesting. She was quite sure that, in another life, he would have attracted many girls. _Maybe he does,_ she thought. She could not possibly know. He cleared his throat and bowed down.

 

“I apologize if my questioning seemed ill-placed.

\- It was, but I suppose I cannot blame you for being curious.” She waved off his bowing and returned inside her chambers. “Regarding my state, I would appreciate if you let him choose the right moment to tell my Lord husband about my… Impending term.

\- Of course. What about Grandmaester Pycelle?

\- Tell him as little as you possibly can.” She paused and stopped in the middle of the room. “I would also appreciate if you could make sure he never comes near my chambers.

\- You should probably ask your guard for this kind of protection. I am afraid I am not much use in this regard.”

 

 _When I give birth, every man in this tower will probably completely forget their duty and hole up somewhere,_ she thought bitterly. It was always like that. She had witnessed, albeit from afar, every each of queen Cersei’s deliveries. She knew what the guards and soldiers did in times like that; they found somewhere else to guard, and those who had to stay let in almost every woman and every man wearing a chain. She could not control the women, but if she could at least make sure _this man_ never touched her.

These last few days, she could not help remembering some of her goodmother’s last words before her so very dear husband died. She had just remembered them, as she was writing a letter to Ser Kevan regarding her project for her brother. _They killed your father,_ she had said. _That is what we always said._ House Lannister was supposed to be responsible for her father’s death, it was the very reason why Eddard Stark accepted to travel to King’s Landing – to investigate, and find out who truly killed Jon Arryn. The rest was history, of course, but her father’s death triggered everything. And now she could not help thinking that maybe she had been fooled too. All she knew was that her father was getting better until Pycelle got his hands on him. Next thing she knew, Lord Jon Arryn was dead in his bed, whimpering and whispering that _the seed was strong. Not that it matters now, Father,_ she mused. _The seed may be strong, but House Baratheon was not._

 

“I do not trust Grandmaester Pycelle,” she simply said. “His incompetence killed my Lord father faster that the poison someone poured in his wine.

\- I am sure he did not mean…

\- I certainly hope he did not mean to kill him.” She frowned and sat at her desk. “I want you to ensure that when the time comes, this man never enters my chambers. Her majesty would probably accept to lend you her own maester’s help, if the need comes.

\- As you wish. You do know, of course, that his chain is much heavier than mine, especially in medicine?

\- He could be wearing the iron throne around his neck that my opinion would not change. My husband will be informed of this decision as well.”

 

Once again, he bowed and gave up the fight. It was one he could win anyway. They exchanged a few more words before she dismissed him, and found herself alone again. Burying her head in her hands, she took a deep breath and sighed. She had so many things to do in so little time, and too many things could go terribly wrong. _I need to write a will,_ she thought. _In case there is someone left to care._

Almost without thinking, she grabbed a sheet of parchment, a quill and some ink and started to write. Somehow, in an eerie way, it soothed her. She had little to no control over her life, lately – she could not stop Jaime from seeing through her lies, she could not save what they almost had, she could not make sure she would survive and she could not be certain she would not live to see dragons filling up the skies and raining fire over them. There was one thing she could still control though, and it was the words she could leave behind.

 _I, Shara of House Lannister, née Arryn, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be my last and only will and testament._ She paused and looked outside for a second before she resumed her writing. _I hereby recognize and wish to be recognized the agreement signed with my lawful husband, Lord Tywin of House Lannister, as binding. I thus bequeath my son or daughter to be born the suzerainty of the lands of the Vale of Arryn, as well as the title of Warden of the East and sire of the Eyrie, to be exercised in his or her name by Lord Nestor of House Royce of the Gates of the Moon until he or she comes of age. Should my son or daughter pass, I bequeath my brother, Lord Robert of House Arryn, the suzerainty of the lands of the Vale of Arryn, as well as the title of Warden of the East and Lord of the Eyrie, to be exercised in his name by Lord Nestor of House Royce of the Gates of the Moon until my brother comes of age._

It was a strange feeling, to be writing this sort of things as she could feel kicks in her womb and blood throbbing in her veins. Her reflection in the mirror nearby was still the same – she was just as young as she was a few months ago, before it all started. She was going to sign when she stopped her quill in mid-air. It was a will, not a letter. She was not supposed to write her regrets and her doubts in this, it was her only way to ensure the Vale remained independent. And yet… Yet she could not shake off Maester Rubben’s words. _Ser Jaime Lannister sought me._ Despite everything.

He would be in King’s Landing, when it would happen. He would be gone already, if everything went according to plan. She had no idea whether she was going to see him again before he left or not – meaning that the little time they spent together during the tourney may have been the last time they ever saw each other. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth to try to shrug off the sharp pain of her heart. _I should thank him, I suppose._ Now that her heart was broken, she was now certain she had one in the first place.

So she wrote, now that everything important was already written. _I bequeath Ser Jaime of House Lannister what we left in the highest tower of the Eyrie, for him to take care of it better than I did. In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand this day._ She signed, waited for the ink to be dry, and folded the parchment. She sealed it with her old Arryn seal and placed it in one of her drawers, feeling both lighter and heavier.

 _Come what may, now,_ she thought as she placed a hand over her stomach. Only a kick replied. _Good. I will fight too._


	40. Like a symphony playing on repeat

This time, she obeyed her maester’s orders. These were not hard orders to follow – after her journey in the Vale and the celebrations, she was actually quite glad to be able to remain in her room and not have to roam the castle. It was empty, anyway, at least until the hunting party returned from the Kingswood.

By the time they returned, she had already received some answers from some agents in Essos. They mentioned people they could recruit, and confirmed that Daenerys and Aegon had not yet met. She wrote back, insisting that she needed as many agents as possible, recruiting their own agents and so on so forth. She mentioned that the rumours had to be spread from now on and up until she ordered them to stop. She obviously never gave her name – never mentioned how she came to know about these agents. She promised enough money for them to not ask anyway.

The hunting party returned during the night. She only knew they were back because she heard voices in the corridor, and, amongst them, Tywin’s. He gave orders, in an ushered yet audible voice. Awoken, she carefully headed for the small mirror that hid the hole in the wall that separated his chambers from hers. He kept on talking as he entered his bedroom, to someone she could not identify at first. He spoke of ravens, of letters he had received while he was away. A quaking voice replied, drawling and stammering. This time she recognized it. _Bloody Pycelle._

 

“How about my Lady wife, then?” Tywin retorted to something she did not understand. “Has her maester given you more information?

\- Nothing of importance, my Lord, he refused to give me precisions on your Lady wife’s state.

\- Is there anything you actually know?” She smirked and suppressed a yawn. “Or have you truly turned into an old fool with no purpose and no use?

\- M-My Lord, it seems that your Lady wife refuses to…

\- I will talk to that maester of hers myself. You are dismissed.”

_More grovelling, stammering._ She remained by the wall for longer than necessary, and only regained her bed when she was certain Pycelle had left Tywin alone. She put the mirror back and felt her way along to the bed. She lied down, carefully, trying her best to prevent any kind of pressure against her stomach. She did not close her eyes just yet, thinking about what she would do in the morning. _I need to talk to him before he gets to Maester Rubben,_ she mused. _The poor man is going to panic if he gets summoned by the Hand of the king himself._ She heard noises in the corridor, voices and jingling of armours, before the tower fell silent again. She fell asleep as she was trying to imagine how she could justify her hatred for Pycelle – and no dream came afterward.

 

She woke up at the first rays of sun, like most days. Spending the last few days quietly working and barely talking to anyone actually made her feel better – although she still felt quite faint every time she stood. She refused to tell her maid, the girl sent by Margaery, but always found a way to remain seated as long as she could when she came to dress her. She asked her to find a nice dress, this morning, _for I need to see my Lord husband today._

She had received replies from the houses she had contacted, regarding their daughters. Every each of them gratefully accepted to send a girl to King’s Landing, to serve her as lady-in-waiting. Lord Borrell even went as far as requesting a _suitable match_ for his daughter, when she would be of age. Lady Waynwood and Lord Royce were more dignified, and simply promised to ship the girl to her as quickly as possible. _Like a common package, to be used somewhere else._ She did not reply to any of them. The girls would arrive soon enough anyway.

As for the Flowers girl, she quickly lost her enthusiasm when she understood that she was not going to be able to satisfy her true Lady’s curiosity. She was too quiet, too cold to be easily read and she usually dismissed her as soon as she was dressed to remain alone in her room. At first she tried to gossip, about this girl and this other woman, about their lovers and how their husbands were furious and going to retaliate and… She barely ever listened and she understood that there was no use. Now she only did her duty and remained mostly silent while doing so.

Margaery knew enough anyway. While she was away, she had gathered a series of more interesting rumours for her to know, mostly spread by older Ladies who had known Cersei Lannister their entire existence and could not possibly accept that she was replaced. She had written their names on a piece of parchment, as well as the rumours they spread, now folded and sealed on her dressing table as Merida was brushing her hair.

 

“Merida,” she eventually said. The girl almost had a start. “Quite jumpy, are we?

\- I am sorry, my Lady. I was lost in my thoughts.

\- Is something bothering you?

\- No, nothing.” She eyed her in the mirror but kept on braiding her hair to pin it up. “Was there something you needed, my Lady?

\- Would be so kind as to take this to Her majesty?” she asked while handing her piece of parchment. “And tell her that I hope she finds the stories interesting?

\- Of course my Lady.”

 

Some life seemed to return to the girl’s eyes when she realized she was going to spend a few moments with the queen and her friends. She did not berate her, she just waited for her to be done to send her to _Her majesty._ That was one of the few perks of having a maid entirely loyal to someone else – at least she could trust her to convey secrets to her without ever thinking of betraying her mistress’ trust.

She waited for her to be gone to stood up while holding unto the table. It took her a few seconds to be able to move away from it, and a few more to feel comfortable on her feet. She slowly made her way to Tywin’s apartments and walked past the guards without flinching. She reached the final door and knocked before entering.

He was getting dressed behind the screens. He was buttoning his pants and tying his shirt when he understood that it was her and not some squire or maid. She went straight to his desk, to sit in front of it. She hated the kind of physical weakness she felt every time she remained on her feet for more than a few seconds, but she could also not bear the thought of anyone noticing how feeble she was. Especially him.

 

“I believe it is the first time I am ready before you are,” she noted with a light voice. “Was the hunt so tiring?

\- The journey back to King’s Landing was quite gruelling.

\- Why so?

\- Winter may not have yet fallen unto our lands,” he replied as he put on his leather doublet while heading for his desk himself. “But autumn is very much installed. The woods and roads were muddy. Horses and carriages hardly appreciated.

\- Did the hunt please His majesty?”

 

Given the way he frowned, she understood that it did not. She could not pretend to be surprised. The boy was too young to understand the pleasure men found in killing animals – if anything, it probably looked and sounded barbarous. She had come to understand that Margaery, on the other hand, was quite the skilled huntress. _At least one of them found some interest in the hunt._

Tywin sat in front of her and grabbed some of the letters he had received to read them, seemingly unphased by her presence. She looked outside for a moment before she noticed an unfolded and unsealed parchment on his desk. From where she stood, she could only see the signature. _Grandmaester Pycelle,_ she read. She frowned and tried to take it. He slammed his hand on the parchment before she even managed to reach it.

 

“Let us not to get too comfortable,” he said without even looking away from his letter. “Especially if you wish to keep your own correspondence away from my eyes.

\- I tend to be quite wary of Grandmaester Pycelle, these days.

\- So I have heard. He has tried to visit you, but your own maester seems to be rather protective. On your order, I suppose?

\- You suppose well.

\- May I ask why?”

 

He finished his reading and finally looked at her. He raised his hand from the parchment and let her take the sheet. She quickly read through it. His intricate writing was covering the entire page, but she quickly understood that it was just a way for the old man to conceal how little he knew about her and how fierce Maester Rubben’s insistence to keep him away from her room was. She smirked and put the parchment back on the desk.

 

“You can,” she replied. “But do you really need to? Anyone with an averagely sane mind who distrust your old servant.

\- You distrust the entire realm, and yet you do not shut them all out of your apartments.” His eyes narrowed. “He may be an old slithering fool, but he is no less trustworthy than your new friends.

\- Are you speaking of Her majesty, or of her ladies-in-waiting?

\- Either or both, as you wish. You have not answered my question.”

 

She rolled her eyes and sighed. There was no use in trying to escape his question. If she wanted him to stop pushing Pycelle toward her room, she had to justify her mistrust. But it involved asking a question she never asked him. She always thought the Grandmaester had something to do with her father’s death, but there was absolutely no personal reason for him to kill Lord Jon Arryn. He could not have acted on his own whim; he acted for someone, or at least, for someone else’s benefits.

This someone else had a name. Her father died not long after discovering the truth about king Robert’s children – or lack thereof. His death prevented this truth from being unveiled, at least in a believable manner and _before_ king Robert actually died. When Stannis tried to reveal the truth, way later, no one listened and the Lannisters kept the full reins of power. Whether the Grandmaester acted on Cersei Lannister’s orders, or Jaime’s, or Tywin’s, she could not possibly know, but he had to have acted on their behalf. But she had never directly addressed the matter with Tywin, mostly because it just completely made sense that the poisoners would make sure that the poisoned would not survive thanks to his zealous maester. Why would she even ask him to confirm something she was fully convinced of?

With her goodmother’s words, though – she was not so certain anymore. She always claimed that the Lannisters had poisoned her husband, she wrote letters to her sister about it and she even wrote _her_ letters to warn her of possible actions against her own life, after she fled to the Eyrie. And it was obvious, was it not? Lord Jon Arryn was about to tell his king, and once the king aware of the monstrosities his own wife committed, he would have executed her and her brother. House Lannister would have been left without his two most shining jewels, without allies and without power. Hells, who else could have done it? She took a deep breath and locked her eyes in his.

 

“Did you give him the order?

\- What order?

\- To kill my father.” Her voice sounded much calmer than she actually felt. “To undo everything Maester Colemon did, and to prevent him from getting better.

\- No.

\- Did your children give him the order?

\- Cersei travelled back to Casterly Rock with me before your father fell ill, and sent no letter to anyone during the journey.” He did not sound outraged by her question. He did not even seem surprised. “As for Jaime, he would not have taken this kind of initiative without my approval. Lest you forget, we all ignored your father’s investigations until Stannis Baratheon revealed them.”

 

 _That is for sure._ She could not deny any of these facts – Cersei Lannister had indeed left King’s Landing for almost a fortnight when her father was poisoned. She had always thought that she had somehow given the order to someone to fulfil before she left and that she, somehow, had come to know about her father’s doubts and visits to the surviving bastard of king Robert. _But she may have not known anything until the rumours started to spread._ And it was too late by then; Jon Arryn was dead already.

 _But who poisoned him, then?_ Why did Pycelle not save him, if the Lannisters had not done it? She bit her lip and shook her head. Tywin did not make a single move, waiting for her next question as he had already guessed what it was.

 

“Then why did he caused his death, if not to end what you had begun?

\- I never claimed to understand the full depth of Grandmaester Pycelle’s thinking. Your guess is as good as mine.

\- You never asked him?” She frowned. “He is supposed to be your servant.

\- You seem to forget that I returned to King’s Landing during a war that I had to end. Your father was dead and gone, and there was nothing to be done about it,” he retorted. “So, no. I did not. But I did ask Cersei if she had anything to do with his death, and the answer was no.

\- Why did she not deny, when my goodmother accused your house?

\- Why would have she? Lady Lysa is not known for her sanity.”

 

She shook her head and scoffed. _No, indeed._ She looked down, looked away from Tywin, trying to make sense of everything. But her mind resisted, it could not fathom that all of this could have been a lie. She, who was always so quick to imagine every ulterior motive that everyone could have, never once doubted that it was, indeed, the Lannisters. _As did Eddard and Catelyn Stark, Stannis Baratheon and probably Renly as well._

A lie had started the war. Houses were destroyed because of a lie – if not for that lie, Eddard Stark probably would have refused the position of Hand and his house might have survived in a better shape than it was now. Stannis Baratheon fled King’s Landing because he was convinced the Lannisters had killed his best ally. _I chose his side because I was convinced as well._ Chaos was unleashed with one death, and one lie. And nothing ever stopped it, until there was nothing left to destroy. She scoffed again and chuckled lowly, sombrely. _Pycelle began the war the day he chose to let my father die._ Whoever poisoned him before – he was going to be saved, despite the attempt on his life, but he stepped in.

 

“Summon him,” she heard Tywin saying after a while. She looked at him again. “Summon him here. Ask him.

\- What if he refuses to answer?

\- Oh that he will.” A gleam appeared in his eyes, the smile his lips did not show. “But not for long, I assure you.

\- How come you never asked yourself who started the war you won before?” she asked while pulling the cord to call Pycelle. “If only to know to thank?

\- This kind of question hardly matters when soldiers are fighting and dying in battles.”

 

She did not reply anything, she just returned to her seat and waited, in silence, for Grandmaester Pycelle to come. He arrived a few minutes later and bent over backward in front of them when he walked past the door. She did not give him her hand to kiss. She remained on her seat and stared him down when he waited for her to greet him. He then looked at Tywin, hoping to find some measure of support in his eyes. All he found was coldness and disinterest. Silence lingered for a few more seconds before the Hand of the king cleared his throat and gestured her.

 

“You have been summoned to answer some of my Lady wife’s interrogations,” he said. “If you would be so kind.

 - Of course, my Lord, if I can be of any use I will certainly…

\- Enough.” He immediately stopped talking, startled by the harshness of her tone. Even she was not expecting her voice to sound so commanding. “Your painful grovelling is not warranted.

\- Did I do anything to upset my Lady?

\- When do you not?”

 

He seemed to cower and looked down. _How come this man is the most powerful maester in these lands?_ He truly was an old fool, through and through, and if he ever was anything but, this time was long gone. She did not rose from her seat, she just rested her head against her closed fist, her elbow on Tywin’s desk. This was all theatrics, but she enjoyed it _deeply._ Every now and then, Pycelle darted a scared and hesitant look at Tywin who did not even look at him. He had resumed his reading, although she could tell he was enjoying this just as much as she did.

 

“I… I am sorry to admit that I am quite confused, I have no knowledge of…

\- Why did you kill my Lord father?” she asked suddenly. He froze and his eyes filled with terror. Shara scoffed. “I do not even need to ask you if you did it, do I?

\- My Lady, I… I know not, you must be mistaken…

\- Maester Colemon was treating my father well, did he not? He purged him, I remember, because he knew it was poison that was killing him.” Despite her seemingly relaxed appearance, her voice was sounding increasingly tense and accusing. “But then you appeared by his door, pretended it was not the right treatment and you sent him away. I protested, but my foolish Lady goodmother let you because it was such an honour for the Grandmaester to take care of a royal servant.

\- But it was not poison, my Lady, I told you that it was…

\- Enough!”

 

Tywin looked at Pycelle for a second, but resumed his reading. He was smirking though – she could see the corner of his lips raised. Her anger was such that she could not fully appreciate the satisfaction of seeing his smirk on his face, though. The old man trembled and jumped when she screamed. For a moment she thought he might fall on his knees in front of her, but he did not. He was now staring at a very indifferent Tywin Lannister.

He only realized that the old fool was not going to answer after a few seconds of silence. He put his parchment down and took a deep breath. Pycelle trembled again, but he kept his eyes on him, pleading like a beaten dog. _If I had a sword in my hand,_ she thought, her mind inflamed by anger and disgust, _I would make shred out of him._ She had not felt this kind of anger since she had Petyr Baelish fly down the Moon Door.

 

“My Lord,” he pleaded when he realized he would not do anything. “My Lord, I have always been a loyal servant to your house, always worked in your best…

\- Answer the Lady Shara, Grandmaester.

\- My Lord, I beg you, you have to…

 _\- Answer the Lady._ ” Tywin’s eyes were shining furiously now. “Or I shall let her inflict you the punishment she wishes to.

 _\- But…_ ”

 

Tywin banged his hand on the desk. Pycelle shrivelled, twisting his hands, searching for some way out he could not possibly find. He stammered, tried to speak, stopped, tried again, but nothing came out except for stammer. After a while he turned to her and, this time, fell on his knees and tried to grab her hands. She pushed him away, staring down at this sorry excuse of a man who was practically whining at her feet, his old and heavy chain dangling from his neck and clinging on the ground.

 

“All I wanted… All I ever wanted was to serve House Lannister,” he whimpered, holding unto the bottom of her skirt. “I knew it was tears of Lys, and what Maester Colemon did could have… Stopped the poison and healed him.

\- Who gave you the order?” she commanded, tearing her skirt away from his hands before she rose from her seat to escape his grip. “Why did you let him die?

\- The queen… Her majesty, she needed Lord Arryn dead.” He looked at Tywin, this time, as if he could excuse what she could not. “She did not say anything, she could not of course, not with Varys listening to everything. But when I looked at her, I knew. I only did what I had to do to protect your house, my Lord, I swear I…

\- My forgiveness is not what you should be seeking, Grandmaester,” he interrupted him. “As for House Lannister, we do not need poison to destroy our enemies. You should have known this was not our doing.

\- But it served Her majesty and you, my Lord, that the Lord Arryn…

\- Talk without being asked just one more time, Grandmaester, and I swear by the Gods that you will _beg_ for poison when I am done with you.”

 

She dragged the chair away and placed herself in front of him. _You feared Cersei Lannister,_ she thought. _You will_ beg _for my mercy when I am done._ She seized his chain and pulled it to force him to look at her. He stammered again but said nothing, this time, obeying the order he had been given. She did not release the chain, although it weighted a lot more than she thought.

Staring at him straight in the eyes, the sides of her vision were blurry and red, but she could not yet tell if it was her anger or her exhaustion that caused it. She remained like this for a long time before she spoke again, her voice now ice-cold.

 

“Who gave him the poison?

\- It was Hugh, my Lady, his squire!

\- Even if he did pour the poison into his cup, he just _acted_ on someone’s behest.” She pulled the chain a bit more, causing him to whine. “Who was this?

\- I know not, my Lady, I never knew!” The old man was now weeping and it only increased her anger. “I thought Her majesty had commanded it, but now… Now I cannot say!

\- Why should I allow you to live after what you did if you cannot even answer one question?”

 

A corner of her mind whispered that she could not take that decision, that only Tywin and the king could sentence a man like him to death – but Pycelle was so terrified that he seemed to believe that she could, indeed, throw him out the window and wait for maggots to eat away his old flesh.

 

“My Lady, I beg you for mercy, I did not know your Lord father, I know not who could have wished him dead.” Strangely enough, fear made him more comprehensible. “The entire court respected him deeply, the late king and… Everyone. No one would have dared…

\- Someone dared, old fool, otherwise he would still live.

 _\- Please,_ my Lady, _please_ , you must understand, all I know is that your Lady goodmother was unhappy to be sent back to the Eyrie without your Lord brother and I…”

 

She pulled the chain to quiet him and closed her eyes for a second. _Seven Hells, who could have poisoned him? Why?_ As idiotic as Pycelle was, he was right when he said that only the Lannisters had any reason to poison him – and they did not. The court did not like him, but they respected him indeed. He was going to send her brother to be fostered by Stannis Baratheon, after months of negotiations with other Lords willing to welcome his son in their castle; he had just announced that his choice was made, during the tourney for Joffrey’s name day. _She hated that idea,_ she remembered. _She stormed out of the lists and disappeared for the rest of the…_

She suddenly released the chain. It hit the floor with a loud metallic bang that echoed in the otherwise completely silent room. _No_ , she thought. _No, it cannot be._ She stepped away from Pycelle, heading for the nearest window to hold unto the sill. In a matter of seconds, all trace of her anger and disgust had disappeared, replaced by a creeping sense of evidence. All the strength she had momentarily felt was vanishing as well and her head was spinning, the way it should have spun as soon as she had stood up.

 

“Leave,” she ordered the old man. “Before I have your head put on a spike for the crows to feast on your eyes.

\- My Lady…

\- You heard the Lady,” Tywin intervened. “Leave.”

 

She heard the chain clicking, the sound of his robe’s fabric creasing and heavy footsteps heading for the door. When he closed again, she almost collapsed. The only things that kept her standing were her two hands holding unto the windowsill. _It cannot be._ And yet… Yet it was. Yet it made sense, in a terrible, only too obvious way. _She did it._ They did it.


	41. The hands that hold the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! We're nearing the end, not of Shara's story of course, but the end of this arc. I think I have three to four chapters, and I will end this fic.
> 
> I will take some time off when I am done, to gather my thoughts and ideas and find something new to offer you; worry not, I'll be back!
> 
> In the meantime, I'm leaving you to this chapter that should please some (maybe most ?) of you.
> 
> Take care of yourself and of your loved ones, wash you hand and stay home as much as possible!

Silence filled the room as soon as Pycelle left. As she held unto the windowsill, trying to comprehend the full meaning of what she had just understood. Her mind refused to process it, though; it was overwhelming, too heavy, too big, _too much_ for even her mind to fully encompass. Everything that made sense an hour before completely lost its meaning in a matter of seconds. All the things she considered absolutely certain, the very few things she clung unto when everything else failed and collapsed – it had just collapsed as well.

 _She did it,_ she silently repeated, but her words sounded empty. _She started everything._ All it took was a drop of poison in a cup, and she set everything into motion. She gave a flick and it turned into a storm. She killed one man, and thousands died before of it. _She did it,_ she repeated again, _because she was angry._ One woman, one stupid and vain woman, killed one man out of sheer spite and accumulated frustration – and the realm burned because of it.

She started to chuckle, lowly at first, then almost maniacally. She never suspected her – never once, never thought she could even conceive the idea of killing her husband. _But who else could have done it?_ She was so ridiculous, so low, so _nothing at all_ that no one could ever suspect her, not even him. And she screamed so loud, fled so far away – did not even take the time to take her gooddaughter with her, she just ran away with her son and the entire guard. She fooled everyone. _Such a perfect crime._ No one saw anything.

Her stupid and empty mind could not have possibly fomented such a perfect plan, of course. It was someone else’s plan and she played her part perfectly. This time, the name came immediately. _Baelish._ Who else? _Chaos is a ladder_ , he repeated. This one could have taken him straight to the throne, if not for the unexpected turn of events. _And no one saw anything._

She did not see anything. She believed the lies, never questioned them. She blamed those she was supposed to blame, fought the way she was supposed to fight. He dug his own grave the day he alerted Stannis Baratheon, but had he not, she would have dug her own with the rest of the court. Cersei Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Robert and his brothers, Eddard Stark, her father, _herself_ were just rungs on his ladder. He got rid of her father to climb the first step – and her let the rest of them unleash chaos while he watched from afar, correcting the situation when it started to escape his control. _The battle of the Blackwater,_ when Stannis Baratheon could have won for the first time because of her. _The whispers_ in his ear when she refused to step out of his way. _The marriage in the Vale_ , to give himself the title necessary to seize the throne when his time would come. _The seizing of the reserves_ , to convince the smallfolk that only he cared about their survival. His plan was perfect, through and through.

 

“Can you believe that?” she eventually said, staring through the window, a crooked smile on her lips. “That so many people died because Lysa Tully could not stand the thought of her son sent to Dragonstone?

\- Not so long ago an entire dynasty fell because a man could not keep his hands off a girl.” His voice sounded mostly unshaken, but she could hear in just how much disbelief he truly was. “By now, the Gods’ wickedness should not surprise us anymore.

\- And yet it does, does it not?”

 

She turned to look at him. He was staring at her, holding a parchment he was not reading. She saw the answer he did not utter in his eyes – _yes, it does._ He knew his lot of divine wickedness. He had seen a perfect king drown into madness until there was nothing left of the man and only the beast remained; he had seen his wife die, so that his imp of a son could live. He had seen an entire kingdom rise against its king because his son _could not keep his hands off a girl._ It should not have surprised him that the most powerful men and women of Westeros could destroy each other because of an unknown, idiotic woman’s spite. _And yet it did_.

They shared a long stare before she scoffed again and shook her head. She felt weak still, but she refused to sit again. Her mind was playing in a loop her last memory of Baelish – his terrified face, his arms searching for something to hold when she pushed him over the edge of the Moon Door. It was satisfying, back then. _I should have made him suffer,_ she thought, the taste of blood filling her mouth. _I should have made him suffer, for all the suffering he brought to the realm._ The death she gave him was too quick, too merciful.

 

“He played you,” she continued. No need to utter his name – he knew. “All this time, you were a pawn in his game, just as I was. Just as we all were.

\- So it seems.

\- How perfect his plan was. He knew that letting my father speak the truth about your children was not enough. He knew that it would not create enough chaos for him to climb his bloody ladder up to the throne, for it would have only destroyed your house once and for all.” She shook her head angrily, gritting her teeth. “How perfect indeed. It would have taken him straight to the throne.

\- No.”

 

She frowned and watch him rise from his seat. He remained behind his armchair for a moment, both of his hands on the back, and slowly walked to face her. _No, what?_ No, his house would not have been destroyed if her father had revealed the truth? No, Baelish’s plan was not perfect? No, it would not have taken him straight to the throne? And yet it would have. He would have had to face the same threats as they did now, of course, but this war had not yet begun. _He was the last casualty,_ she thought. _Gods, if I could resurrect him to kill him again!_

Tywin stopped a step away from her, as if expecting her to ask him what he meant by _no._ She was not going to ask, though. She had no wish to hear the same tale over and over again; that somehow House Lannister would have prevailed, despite the fact that given enough time, her father would have mounted the entire realm against them, that it did prevail and made Baelish’s plan fruitless and vain. She knew all that, and bathing in Lannister glory was not what she needed. _Bathing in Baelish blood, on the other hand…_

 

“Everyone played the part he predicted,” he continued after a long silence, staring right at her with his two piercing green eyes, cold as ice. “Even when the rumours started to spread about our involvement in your father’s death, she never denied it. Eddard Stark, righteous to a fault, listened to his advices and trusted him. He remained when he should have left, and fell right into his trap. Joffrey started the war when he cut his head, as he probably foresaw. Chaos ensued.” He looked outside in silence for a moment before he continued. “Rigid Stannis Baratheon revealed the truth, but no one believed him. In the midst of that chaos that followed Renly’s death, he managed to win over the Tyrells and save the city at death’s door by warning me of your involvement in the battle plan. Then he offered to seize control over the Vale, by marrying your aunt who was very obediently waiting for him in the Vale, and I let him, as I was expected to. Again, Stannis Baratheon played his part when he listened to his voice rather than reason and decided to go against every each of your advice. I suppose many Lords in the Vale did exactly what he meant them to do?”

 

She nodded, unsure of where he was going. She knew all that; they were all pawns he had played with for so long. _Where do I stand in this?_ She watched him as he turned to her again, his stare more intense now than ever before, all-encompassing as if he was seeing her for the first time. He ran a hand across his jaw, on his side-whiskers, probably enjoying more than she did her obvious confusion. She truly, and for the first time in a while, had absolutely no idea of what he tried to get her to understand.

 

“Where do you stand in this?” he asked her. “Have you even wondered?

\- I am now, but I suspect you already have an answer to that question.

\- If it were just about this, about our role in his scheme, you would be right to say that it was perfect.” One corner of his lips twitched. “But it was not, was it? I always thought Baelish’s greatest mistake was his ignorance of how far you could go out of spite and thirst for revenge. But his mistake was far worse than that.

\- How could it be worse?

\- You had no part to play in his great plan. He expected nothing of you, because he did not even consider you.”

 

She froze, both stunned and startled. _No, of course he considered me, otherwise he…_ She looked away, slowly realizing just how right Tywin was. _I had no part to play._ She was like the rest of the court, expected to follow the queen’s whims, or maybe the king’s, or maybe the Tyrells’. Maybe even expected to return to the Vale and remain there, believing the lies his cumbersome Lady Lysa told. Another Catelyn Stark, perhaps, on crusade to avenge her father against the Lannisters – and for a time, she did play that part. Another Jon Arryn or Eddard Stark, tangled up in honour and unable to react in time. She scoffed, shaking her head as Tywin continued to speak.

 

“But then you almost got Stannis Baratheon on the throne, so he had to step in. He probably thought you would just die, even when presented with an alternative. But you did not. Worse than that, you thrived and you endangered his grand scheme, so again he had to step in. Then he thought you would give up, maybe die, and that he would just return to a burning King’s Landing to pick up the crown and sit on an empty throne. But you did not, so he did not either. When he understood his mistake, it was already too late. All the pawns he had so carefully placed on the board served no purpose against a trump card he never could conceive.”

 

He closed the distance between them and placed one of his hand on the back of her neck, fingers lost in her hair, holding her head up. She was barely breathing now, hanging unto his every word as if he were chanting some kind of curse or spell. She had repeated herself so many times that she had to become the deadliest piece on the board, that she had to become more powerful than the most powerful people on these lands – but it had always been just herself, talking to herself, convincing those around who could be easily fooled.

He was just saying these things to her. He was openly admitting that when even he was under control, she was the only free pawn in the game. _The queen on the board._ The deadliest piece; the one that changed everything.

 

“So, no,” he repeated. “His plan was not perfect. Chaos may have been his ladder, but he forgot that he was not the only one climbing.

\- It took you some time to understand.” She smirked back and raised her own head, faking assurance more than she felt it. “How does it feel, to openly admit what you always refused to face?

\- That one person could be both the greatest weapon and the greatest threat at once, and that that someone was you?

\- For example. Or that you started to depend on me the day you took me out of my cell. That your legacy as a king without a crown depends on me now.

\- Ha,” he scoffed, frowning now. His grip on her neck tightened a bit as his eyes lowered on her lips and the cruel smirk they were showing. “When someone gives you a hand, you cannot help but tearing away the arm with it, can you?”

 

She chuckled and placed a hand on his chest, near his insignia. She could not tell if it was to keep him away and pull him closer. She had just infuriated him; but what else could she do? Get on her knees and thank him for his consideration? _Never._ He owed her this. After everything she had done for him, he owed her this. She should not even have been surprised; she had done all these things, and being pushed aside was her greatest strength since the very beginning.

But still, though. She had gotten so used to being disregarded, receiving little to no gratitude at all, that hearing those words in his mouth felt more like a victory than anything else before. If all else should fail, at least she had that. Tywin Lannister’s appreciation, and praise. _And pride._ It was hers and hers only.

She did not push him away when he moved closer. She stepped back when he stepped toward her, until her back reached the nearest column. Then she stopped – but he did not. There was hardly no space between them, her hand on his chest was pressed between his and hers, and his face loomed over hers hungrily. She raised her chin to be able to look at him, knowing full well that their lips would then touch.

Time seemed to stop when they did. He had never kissed her lips before, she realized. He almost had, after Tyrion’s escape, but Pycelle interrupted him. In bed, he covered her body with kisses that felt more like bites. But he never kissed her lips, and he did not, at first. He froze, as if she had burned him. She did not make a single move, suddenly realizing what she was doing.

 

“No,” she whispered. “I take the realm.”

 

His eyes flashed above her before they closed, and as he pressed her against the column, he also pressed his lips against hers. He had never kissed her lips before – and she was not sure this could be called a kiss. As she closed her eyes as well, she realized this was power play. He was holding her in place, devouring her lips as if she were going to vanish in thin air and escape him, and she was fighting back because he could not have the upper hand, not again, not ever. Their teeth knocked together more than once and they only separated once out of breath.

She felt dizzy, light-headed, as he moved his hand from the back of her head to her throat. Keeping her eyes closed and trying to appease the throbbing sound in her ears, she let him, holding unto Tywin’s doublet more she should have. If not for his grip on her, she was not sure she would have remained on her two feet.

His hand was cold on her throat but his breath was scorching hot. His presence was everywhere, around her, above her, below her – everywhere. If this was a battle, he had won, of course. Her lips were burning, as if bruised, and her mind was completely scattered. But it always went down to the same memory, a warm one, kind and gentle, so completely different from this violence. She shrugged it off, again and again, but it was all she could see behind her closed eyes. The white room, the snow-capped mountains, the silence and someone else’s arms, hands, _lips_.

When the grip on her throat and faced tightened, she opened her eyes again and returned to the present. Tywin was staring again, the fire in his eyes barely tamed. He was holding her so tightly that he had not noticed just how weakly she was standing. The ghostly memory that had flashed behind her eyes slowly vanished, replaced by his very real closeness and stare. She smirked, hiding her distress behind her favourite veneer. Arrogance. _Strength._

And it worked, this brash display of self-conviction, and enough for her to straighten her posture and tilt her head haughtily.

 

“And they say Tywin Lannister cannot be bested,” she whispered again. “What would they say if they saw you?

\- You made sure they could not see anything anymore, did you not?

\- Ha,” she scoffed. Her mind was slowly clearing, and her dizziness subsiding. “No, this one you did yourself. But I do that I wish Baelish’s death had been slower.

\- And they say Shara Arryn is a victim of this war.

\- I wonder who they were, though, because they surely said a lot of senseless things.”

 

They both scoffed at the same time while he was slowly pulling away from her. She let him, making sure she could stand on her own. Before he truly walked away, as if nothing had happened at all, she managed to grab his Hand insignia and pull it off his doublet. He did not notice at first, and only realized she had taken it when she pinned it on her stomacher. She was wearing a light blue dress, and the bronze insignia stood out quite strikingly on both the colour and the intricate silvery embroidery. It looked quite absurd, really; it was too big, too heavy, too rough to be worn on such a delicate dress.

 _Just as if they made it heavy so that no woman could wear it._ Cautiously making a few steps to ensure she would not collapse in the middle of the room, she headed for the nearest mirror to gaze at her reflection. Her lips were reddened, almost bruised. _Power-play,_ she mused. _A battle, with no victor._ But scars. Somehow, Tywin’s lower lips had been cut in the fray. Whether it was her doing or his…

 

“How do you like what you are gazing at?” he asked her, heading for his desk again. _How this man manages to be both a pyre and a block of ice truly is an amazement._ “Was it not a crown you longed for?

\- Well, it so appears that I would sooner wear this insignia than I would wear a crown.” She tilted her head and corrected her hair. Some strands had been torn away from her braids – other signs of the battle. “Are we not waging a silent war to make sure none of us ever has to wear a true crown?

\- I would advise not to phrase it like that in front of any member of the small Council,” he noted. There was a hint of smile in his voice – amusement. “Especially in front of Lord Tyrell.

\- It is not as if we could phrase it at all anyway. When we are done, the rhapsodists will weave the legend with or without our consent.”

 

 _How will they call that?_ she wondered. The Rains of Castamere, the Fires of Duskendale… It would be a tale of whispers and rumours, brought by no one and everyone at once, that made the dragons dance again, for the very last time. _Perhaps no one will ever know._ Perhaps they would live their lives, grow old and die, without anyone ever knowing just how whispers and rumours spared the realm another war, this time probably fatal. That would be a kind of victory too. The frustrating kind, but a victory all the same. 

She could not help wondering, though, what it would be like if they were king and queen. It was only decorum of course, given that no one ignored that the true monarch was Tywin Lannister and not his naive, way too young grandson. But decorum could change a lot of things. Would the Riverlands still resist, if by the laws of men and the laws of Gods he sat on the iron throne? Would Dorne plot in the dark and try to get her to assist them, if he was wearing an antic crown? _Would the Dornish try their luck, if they had to call me queen and bow down to me as well?_

 

“You never thought about it?” she asked, taking away the insignia and looking at it on her palm. “Taking the throne for yourself, rule in your own name and be done with the decorum?

\- It was never a possibility. Robert had cobbled a formidable alliance, during his rebellion, and his claim was backed by four of the seven kingdoms. The three remaining kingdoms, two, really, if you exclude the Westerlands, remained mostly loyal to the Targaryens until the very end.” She heard the sound of a parchment put down on the desk. “It is not more of a possibility now. The only thing holding the realm together now is Tommen’s lineage.

\- Or lack thereof, but I was not speaking of possibility or impossibility,” she noted with a smirk. “But you answered my question, I suppose.

\- Even so, why would I want to be king?”

 

She scoffed and turned her head to look at him. It sounded absolutely ludicrous in his mouth; Tywin Lannister, rejecting the idea of being king, sounded like an outright joke. _To anyone, I suppose._ But of course, he would not want to be king. He was holding every rein of power from the very day he returned to King’s Landing; like a puppeteer, he could pull the strings he wished and see the result, and just a puppeteer, he was doing it from afar, bathed in shadows. Everyone knew, but no one could see.

A king was seen – it was the entire point of the position. He was heard, and he was stared at. A king was never free and it was the full reason why he had a Hand to do what he could not, and a Council to take the decisions he could not take on his own. Only a few kings managed to find freedom in this position; all of them had dragons, all of them _were_ dragons. _And we are fighting their descendants today._

 

“Only fools seek glory and recognition,” he continued. “Power does not come in gold or pomp and is not created by crowd’s cheers or a war hammer. These are only smoke and mirrors, behind which lies true power.

\- Not all kings are Aerys or Robert.” She put the insignia back on his desk and watched him. “What happens to true power, when the smoke and the mirrors start to ask for some measure of it?

\- It never ceases to exist. It changes hand, it is sometimes shared, but there is always someone hiding away from the light and holding in his hands the true fate of the realm.

\- And they say that uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. What about the head that shapes the true fate of the realm?

\- You could answer that question yourself,” he retorted, in a seemingly conversational tone. “Now that the letters you send and receive have the power to either save or doom the same realm.”

 

 _Flatterer._ She scoffed and rolled her eyes. He simply smirked and put the insignia back where it belonged – on his chest. _Does he bear the same weight on his shoulders? Does he feel it every day, does it weight on his thoughts every time he has to take a decision?_ It probably did, once. Perhaps he simply had forgotten what it was like, not have this burden weighting on his mind. Or perhaps he never truly felt it.

She was going to ask him when someone knocked at the door. She turned to see Lord Mace Tyrell entering the room and bowing deeply in front of them. _I suppose that is my cue, then._ She greeted him politely and curtsied in front of the desk. It was decorum, once again. Given everything that happened within these walls in the space of an hour, it was hardly necessary for her to be this formal.

 

“I leave you to your duties, my Lords. Lord husband.

\- Lady wife. Their majesties wished to invite you to dinner,” he said calmly. “As well as you, my Lord. Can we hope to be honoured with your presence?

\- If His majesty so wishes, I will gladly attend.

\- As will I, my Lord.” Mace Tyrell made his way to the desk, darting Shara a quick and strangely warm glance. “I hope we can speak tonight, my Lady. We only seldom had the occasion.

\- I am sure we shall find the time.”

 

She smiled and headed for the door. _Well well,_ she thought as she returned to her room. _Did our flower queen mention our arrangement?_ Mace Tyrell had never quite appreciated her, for reasons that were very reasonable of course. He hardly ever talked to her, let alone _wished_ to talk to her. If he could help his daughter and, through her, Shara, get rid of the few courtiers who were still loyal to the dowager queen – that would be perfect.

Reality snapped back rather violently, though, when she reached her room. She practically collapsed unto an armchair as soon as she reached one, and for a long time, way too long, she feared she might lose consciousness. Her vision was blurry, a sudden nausea tore her insides and burned her throat and her head was spinning more than ever before.

Burying her head in her hands, she focused on her heartbeats to slowly soothe herself. _Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,_ was the only thing she could think of as she tried to control her breathing. What a fearsome woman she was; unable to stand for more than a few minutes, on the verge of fainting as she sat alone in her own room.

She opened her eyes after a while, to stare at her own hands. She had destroyed Baelish, with those hands, she had flipped the chessboard and won the game. These hands held the world, either together or apart, time only would tell. These hands conducted the music to which the dragons would dance – and they were shaking. They were pale, the veins under the skin were pulsing, and _they were shaking._

She scoffed bitterly. _Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,_ _and trembling are the hands that hold the world._ But trembling hands could not hold the world together, so she clenched her two fists and ignored the room spinning around her.

And they stopped shaking.


	42. A world that does not exist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I see that my announce has generated quite a few reactions. We are reaching the end, but worry not: I have more in store. It just needs to be written, and you'll have it too ;)
> 
> The times we are living are quite troubled, these days, so take care of yourself and take care of your families!

Jaime Lannister and his escort did not leave a fortnight after the end of the tourney in SharaLannister’s honour – they lingered a bit more in King’s Landing because the troops who were heading for Riverrun had been stopped near Acorn Hall for almost a week, due to the heavy snowfall in the region. They had just resumed their journey, and it was crucial that they arrived before Jaime’s party. He had to arrive late, as some kind of _saviour_ for the Riverlands and the Tullys.

The sheer idea of allowing Lysa Tully to return to her homeland and end her life with her family disgusted Shara more and more as time passed. _This_ was not the fate that should have befallen the woman responsible for her husband’s death – so the woman responsible for her sister’s family’s annihilation and the war that tore apart the realm? She deserved a painful, very long death that she could not give her. _The realm is more important that her, or me, or even all those who died because of her,_ she kept on telling herself. It did not make it any better, but it was true nonetheless.

Kevan Lannister eventually answered her letters, and accepted to take Robert as his ward for as long as she wished. Somehow it made her goodmother’s fate more acceptable – she had killed Jon Arryn because he wanted to send him away, it was only natural that her only punishment was to never see the boy ever again. It was perhaps even crueller than any kind of torture or painful death she could imagine. She had instantly sent a missive to Lord Royce to ask him to send the boy to Storm’s End, where Kevan was currently stationed. Tywin had sent him there to find some suitable new Lord for the Stormlands and it was apparently not the easiest task.

She did not come across Jaime during the few weeks he remained in King’s Landing. He remained with his Sworn Brothers, enjoying his last days as Lord Commander before he officially renounced the position. He had promised that he would resign if his father was merciful to Tyrion – he had been, before he ruined everything. A Lannister always pays his debts, they said, and so he did not even try to negotiate with his father.

She did not really see Tywin all that often, after what happened with Pycelle. He lost his seat at the small Council immediately afterward but remained in King’s Landing – Maester Rubben did not even feign to ignore it was her doing, he fully acknowledged it and congratulated her for the immediate results; the Grandmaester had stopped asking about her. The Hand of the king was increasingly busy and he spent his days either locked in his apartments or in the small Council’s room. Winter was coming faster than they thought and more and more people were moving south. There were camps forming all around the city’s wall as they spoke. _And they say we won the war. It never even ended._

It was better this way, though. She was sleeping a ridiculous number of hours, and yet no amount of sleep managed to even reduce her never-ending exhaustion. Any kind of action, from remaining on her feet more than five minutes to climbing down the stairs of the tower of the Hand to visit the queen felt like an ordeal. The little time she spent with Tywin, though, was the worst of it. She had to pretend everything was fine, at least regarding her state, and it was more tiring than anything else. Even Margaery noticed her paleness and the way her hands trembled when she did not clench her fists. She made no comment about it, though, courteous and cautious as ever – but the court had started whispering even before that.

And she told her, because it was part of their agreement. She asked her what excuse she could spread to calm everyone down. For once, Shara told her the truth: her pregnancy was tiring and trying, and she enjoyed the peace of her room – _and of your apartments, when you are so kind to invite me._ On this front, her plan worked perfectly. The Tyrell party was slowly warming up to her, including Lord Mace who even had pastries sent to her, with a note he wrote saying that his Lady wife enjoyed sweet things when she was pregnant with their sons and their daughter. Her ladies-in-waiting tolerated her presence a bit less coldly and overall, the court was slowly getting used to their new queen. _The sudden disappearance of those of the ladies who were too close to Cersei Lannister helped, of course._

She was working on the more _eastern_ front when someone knocked on her door. She put away the letter she was writing – she was starting to give her instructions as to the content of the rumours she wanted to be spread in Essos, now that the agents had recruited enough agents, sub-agents and _little birds_ as Varys would call them. She cleared her throat and allowed whoever knocked to enter.

She froze when she saw Jaime Lannister stepping inside her room. She started to rise from her seat, but he gestured her not to move. He was wearing his full golden armour, except for the helmet of course, and his perfectly white cloak. He had just shaven, his hair was cut short. _He is going to leave soon,_ she understood. She gestured him back to sit as well but he shook his head.

 

“No need,” he said. “I am not staying long.

\- I gather you are leaving.

\- Tonight, indeed. The troops have almost reached Riverrun, the last missive they sent was from Lychester castle. The entire house has apparently decided to assist in the siege.

\- There is hope that your mission will be a success, then.

\- The Hand of the kings believes so, anyway.”

 

An uncomfortable silence lingered between them as he looked around and detailed the interior of the room. She had no memory of him ever entering this place, even when her father lived. Lord Jon Arryn did not seek Ser Jaime Lannister’s presence, and much preferred his own guard to whatever the Kingsguard had turned into – in his opinion, anyway. Since she had returned with her own guards, his Sworn Brothers kept to the Hand’s apartments. The Valemen had their own ways and they still refused to fully trust men they believed to be fully loyal to the Lannisters only. They somehow decided that their Lady was not a Lannister herself, or not enough of one to warrant such distrust toward her too. She did not try to convince them otherwise. When his eyes found the balcony and the view she had, he scoffed and shook his head.

 

“I understand now why you were so keen to keep this room,” he said when she rose an eyebrow. “You probably have the most beautiful view of the entire castle.

\- My father believed a young girl needed fresh air. It was one of the things he kept from the Eyrie, I suppose.” She looked at the balcony too. “The view is quite nice, indeed.

\- It can hardly compare to your mountains, but then again, nothing in the world can.”

 

She smiled weakly and looked away from the windows to turn to him. He had lost his sarcastic smile and seemed lost in his thoughts – or memories. Staying away from him for so long had mended some of her wounds, but some refused to close and she suspected that they would never truly heal. Facing him like this, from so far away, reminded her that ignoring the pain did not make it go away.

 

“But you did not come to comment on my view,” she continued to fill the silence. “Did you?

\- No, I did not.” He looked at her again. His face meant to be unshaken, but his green eyes were dark when he stared right at hers. “I came to bid you farewell.

\- Farewell? Are you this scared of the Tullys?

\- The day I am scared of the Tullys is the day their trout fly.” She saw a quick shine of mockery, immediately replaced by his dark gravity. “When I am done with the siege, I will renounce my position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and return to Casterly Rock. I am to administer it, until my father decides if he gives it to me or to whatever heir you might give him.

\- So you will never return.

\- Not if I can help it.”

 

She closed her eyes, taking the blow as if he had just hit her. She took a deep breath and another, trying to wash away the sharp pain that burst into her chest. She shrugged off her sudden dizziness. Tried to, anyway. As if he had just hit her, her head was spinning and she had to cling unto one of her armchair’s armrest to keep some composure. _Never return. He will never return._ It was not supposed to hurt like that, _physically,_ like a stab in an already open wound. But it did.

When she looked at him again, the way he looked at her intensified the pain. For a brief second, there was a mix of worry, hesitation and _grief_ in his beautiful eyes. It disappeared before she even could engrave this picture in her memory. For a long time, none of them said anything. They just stared at each other. She tried to find something, anything, but she found nothing.

She wanted to be brash and arrogant, but if he left, it would be the last thing he would remember of her. Part of her wanted her to beg for his forgiveness but then again – he could not remember her as a weak, crying and begging little thing. Another part wanted to throw herself against him, to hurt him or to hold him tight against her. But she could not do that, could she? She felt so terribly weak that she was certain that simply standing up would get her to collapse.

 

“I shall pray for your well-being,” he said after a while. His voice sounded flat, emotionless. _Wrong._ “And for your child’s.

\- You never pray, Jaime,” she retorted with a frown. “For yourself, for anyone. You never pray.

\- Perhaps I should. If I had, maybe they would have spared me some of the wickedness they threw my way.

\- Am I one of these wicked things?

\- You are the worst of them.”

 

She tried to smile but only came up with a ludicrous grimace. She looked away, unable to sustain his stare, and looked down at her swollen stomach. Her entire body was painful, the way it had been when he first confronted her. _Maybe it is better if he goes now,_ she thought. _I cannot stand this pain anymore._ Not when she felt so weak already. She had to glance at the window to check if it was closed, because suddenly she felt terribly cold too. She should have known, though, that it had nothing to do with any cold wind. It was inside of her, this cold. Not outside.

 

“You want to know why?” he asked. _No. Leave._ “For a time I thought you were a solace, sent my way by some benevolent Gods, whoever they were. A broken soul hidden in a perfectly composed, ice-cold figure. I thought I had found someone who could understand what it meant to hurt behind closed doors, only to parade again and again and again for the entire world to see. Of course, you were stronger and slyer than I have ever been, and you were only reaping what you had sown, but if someone like you could regret her decisions and loathed herself so much…” He shook his head. She was practically holding her breath. “Then maybe even you could be saved. Maybe even you could redeem in some ways. If you could, then so could I. The side of you you showed to your soldiers in front of the Bloody Gate, to the men who followed us to the top of your mountains made me hope that, if you chose to, you could be this woman. And if you could choose to be a different woman, then I could also be a different man.” She looked at him again. “But you never wanted to be different, did you? You never sought redemption. You never needed, nor wanted, saving.”

 

 _Please,_ she meant to cry, _leave._ She had heard enough the first time, she knew everything he was going to tell her and she did not want to hear it again. She did not want _this_ to be her last memory of him; his violence, if not in acts, then in words. She shivered and shook her head, slowly at first then more visibly. _Leave,_ she whispered. Whether he heard or not, she could not tell. She was not looking at him, she was looking through the window nearby, trying to ignore the sharp pains that hurt her heart, her back and her stomach.

Placing a hand over it, she added nothing. She was not even sure she could _say_ anything. Her voice would probably sound ridiculous hoarse, or croaky, if she tried to utter one word. She just wanted him to go away, with all the memories, the regrets and the remorse he brought her. She wanted to be left alone with her pain.

 

“I convinced myself otherwise,” he continued. Every each of his words seemed to echo in her mind. “Despite knowing deep inside that you were not who I wanted you to be, I chose to only see the parts of you I wished to see. And I suppose you did the same thing, in your own way. So yes, Shara, you are the most wicked thing the Gods sent my way, because they did not have to do anything. I blinded myself willingly only to remain by your side.

\- Why do you tell me this?” she retorted. “What does it change now? Is it supposed to make me worse, and you better?

\- Neither of those things. It is just the truth. I am not who you think you see in me, and you will never be who I thought you could be.” _Because of you. If you had given me enough time…_ “None of us are to blame. Maybe in another time, another life, we…

\- This one is the only one we have.”

 

Her words had sounded harsher, colder than she thought it would – but her anger had not disappeared because of the pain. She sustained another surge of ache, winced and slowly stood up from her armchair. Her legs felt weak and she had to cling unto the back of the chair to really stand straight. She kept one hand on her stomach, with the useless hope that it would ease the burning pain. It did not, of course, but somehow it was better now that she was standing.

 

“There is no other time, no other life.” She looked back at him. “Do not call that _fate_ , Jaime, you made a choice. Remember that when you are alone in Casterly Rock, blaming the Gods for something you did to yourself.

\- What would you have done, if I had asked you to choose between the mockery of a throne you think you are sitting on and a life with me?

\- What would you have done if I had asked you choose between your sister and me, back on the ship that took us to the Vale?” He replied nothing. “Then again, you would have made _a choice,_ like the one you made the day you killed king Aerys or the one you made the day you kissed me.

\- You have not answered.

\- Because I have nothing to tell you. You will never ask me that question and I will never have to make that choice.” She shook her head. “You took away my choice the day you made yours.”

 

Brave words, coming out of in a much stronger voice than she thought possible. For a second, just a second, she felt strong enough to withstand his stare. But one more second was all it took for the illusion to wither. She closed her eyes and struggled to remain still. _I cannot do this any longer,_ she thought. She needed to lie down, to call Maester Rubben. It was too painful, almost unbearable sometimes. But she could not do that if Jaime remained. She took a few deep breaths and opened her eyes again.

 

“You came to big me farewell, Jaime,” she continued. “This is now a done thing.

\- Shara, I…

\- I will not hear anything more. I do not want to hear your regrets, your remorse or whatever sense of fate you have.” Her hand on the chair tensed, almost painfully. “But since you felt entitled to unburden yourself with your sharp analysis of the situation, allow me to do the same.

\- I just…

 _\- No,_ you said your part, let me say mine. If I could go back in time and erase everything that happened between us, I would, and I wish I could forget it all. I was not mistaken about you, I did not blind myself, I did not delude myself with some lies about you. I trusted you.”

 

She shook her head and ran a trembling hand across her face angrily. She slowly released the chair and made the few steps that separated them to stand in front of him. She could hear her own heart beating, blood throbbing against her temples. He stepped back, without thinking, without realizing that she could not resist a simple push. She just wanted him to _leave her alone_ , and the _pain to stop._ She chuckled lowly, sombrely, and the sound echoed all around them cruelly. Her mind was blurry now, maybe because of anger, maybe because of the pain, she could not tell.

She spoke without even thinking, without the barriers she surrounded her mind with usually. A blurry mind had no barrier – and he was going to leave. He had to leave.

 

“Seven Hells, I _loved you_ ,” she continued. He paled and tried to speak. “I was not asking for you to love me in return. I just wanted someone to know me. But you said it, you blinded yourself and never truly knew me, so I suppose it could never be.

\- Why? Why now?

\- Because it does not matter anymore. I…”

 

She stopped, unable to remember what she meant to say. _What is…_ Her eyes closed despite herself and she felt her knees give way under her weight. Two arms prevented her from falling and kept her standing. Her eyes fluttered for a moment before she managed to keep them open. She tried to hold unto Jaime, but her arms felt terribly heavy when she raised them.

 

“What…” He stopped too, his eyes staring at something. She could not quite see what he was looking at. “Gods, _gods,_ no, _no_ …

\- What are you…” She let out a moan of pain and reached for her stomach. When she did, she felt that something was not quite right there. Lowering her eyes, she saw – and she understood. _“Oh.”_

 

Underneath her stomach, where her skirt began, a dark stain was slowly forming. _Oh,_ she thought again. She almost did not hear him _screaming_ for help, _yelling_ for Maester Rubben, she just stared at the stain and at the small puddle on the floor, between them. She dug her nails into Jaime’s coat, or so she thought. He did not even seem to notice it.

The pain was still there, and it was almost unbearable. But at the same time… The more it lasted, the further it felt, as if it was slowly going away. Her mind was entirely elsewhere as she stared into space behind Jaime. He could scream, he could try to alert the entire tower – all she could think about was the mountains and the empty room at the top of the world. The balcony where they stood. The silence around them. The silence between them.

 

“Shara,” she heard from afar. “ _Shara!_

\- We should have stayed in those mountains,” she whispered. Or did she? “We should have never left the mountains.

\- We will return there, I swear, but you need to lie down. Can you lie down?

\- We will not.

 _\- We will_ , just you wait!”

 

She let him basically drag her to her bed. He somehow managed to lift her up and put her on the mattress. As she looked at him she saw the stain on his hands. _Adequate,_ she mused. _That he eventually has my blood on his hands._ He stormed out of the room, banging every door open and screaming in the corridor. She felt her head roll on her shoulders as she tried to look around. Her vision was getting increasingly dark around the corner, then toward the middle too. Soon enough, she only managed to see her own hands. Stained, too.

She heard voices answering his screams, someone rushing up the stairs, doors banging open again. She saw two figures enter the room, both of them rushing to her side. She did not understand what they said. She tried to reach for one of them, but rising her hand emptied her of the last forces she had. She never knew if one of them caught her hands – she drowned into darkness before any of them could. And nothing hurt anymore.


	43. Demi-gods and angry ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter guuuuys!

_She had never seen her father lying down before, she realized. Jon Arryn never slept. Jon Arryn never lay down. Jon Arryn never stopped working for the realm, because such was his duty. He spent his entire life fulfilling his every duty, and they kept adding up until there was hardly a man to be found behind the duties. They had hardly talked in months, before his sudden sickness had him bedridden. He had no time for that, of course – who had time for her anyway? The entire court had forgotten that Lord Jon Arryn had a daughter, until they found only her to honour with their condolences. Suddenly Shara Arryn existed again, or at all._

_She had accepted the condolences with a polite smile and the rigid and cold demeanour that was expected of Jon Arryn’s daughter. She did not even know, could not even tell if she was sad and grieving, as she was staring at her father’s body. Pycelle said it was a disease, or old age. Her goodmother was convinced it was poison – and she was convinced the Lannisters were behind it. Considering that Jon Arryn was about to disclose the full truth about the royal heirs to their official father, it made only too much sense that they would want to get rid of him before he did. Was she sad, though?_ Angry, _she thought._ And determined. _She had tried to warn him that his investigations were attracting attention, but he did not listen. Now, whoever was going to become Hand now had to finish what he started, or else his death would serve no purpose. She would ensure the new Hand would do what would be necessary. Hopefully the Lannister would fall, as they should have had a decade before._ Eddard Stark would be a good Hand, _she mused as she stared at the small stones placed over her father’s closed eyes._ Honourable, the way all Hands should be. _She turned away when she heard a voice calling her. “My Lady,” she heard…_

“My Lady!”

 

She opened her eyes and felt a wake of pain washing over her entire body. Whining, she tried to look around her but all she could see was Maester Rubben’s face above her. She had no recollection of where she was, for a long, long time, but he was frowning and his lips were pursed. He was worried – terribly worried, and he had blood on his chin. _Mine,_ she thought.

The pain was unbearable, and in her mind only one thing was clear: how terrified she was. _Am I dying?_ When Rubben disappeared from her sight she weakly called him again. He returned, with a towel to wipe off the sweat from her forehead. She did not know why she was sweating for much. All she could feel was an intense, dreadful _cold._

 

“My Lady, you have to stay awake.

\- What is… Am I…

\- It has begun, my Lady, sooner than we thought.

\- H-How bad?”

 

He did not answer. She felt one tear rushing down her face as he vanished again. She struggled to keep her eyes open and turn her head to the door. It was closed now, but it seems to open. There were people in there, moving around, moving things, but it was all a blur. She saw a white silhouette stepping inside the room and slowly slipped into unconsciousness again. It was more comfortable than the pain and the fear.

 

_Ned Stark’s head on the floor was such a ludicrous sight. Left there to rot, but more likely to be picked up by one of His majesty’s brave soldier, it was staring at nothing with wide opened eyes. They had taken Sansa Stark away, the poor girl had collapsed at the very moment when her father’s head had fallen. The king and his royal mother had already left as well. She only remained because she was not as important as they were. The stand was covered with blood. It smelled like hot copper, like raw flesh, and the summer heart did not help. Ned Stark’s headless body had not been moved away from the block either._

_It looked like an abstract painting. Blood red, wood brown, frock grey, sky blue. The colours were too vivid for the gruesome horror that had just unfolded._ It used to be my father’s ward, _she thought._ The son he never had. _The son he wished he had. Raised in all the glory of House Arryn’s honour. Bathed in Jon Arryn’s rigid principles and code of honour. Loyal to a fault to everything he taught him – loyal to his death. She almost managed to spare him his fate but of course, he refused to listen. He refused to do what had to be done and now this was all that remained of him. A head with empty eyes, and a headless body on a block. The crows were gathering already around these two things that used to be Lord Eddard Stark. She only turned away from this horrid spectacle when she heard the loud_ bang _of a door banging open._ Or banging closed?

 

“She is _dying_!” she heard faintly as her eyes fluttered open. “We already know how this will end, it happened before!

\- _Enough,_ Jaime. She is…

\- My Lords,” a closer voice echoed above her as she tried to speak. “She has awakened again.”

 

Everything was red around her as silence returned. The bed’s frame, the sheets she was lying on, her hands when she tried to lift them. The entire room, when she managed to turn her head towards the voices. The pain was now so distant that she was not sure she could feel it anymore – but that was red too. _Where is Tywin?_ she thought. _He would love the red._

The two dark figures that were talking before seemed to walk closer. Her vision was so blurry that she could not make up who they were – and her mind was so cloudy that she could not even remember who they could be. _Where is father?_ He should have been there. It was the tower of the Hand, he was working next-door. _Where is Jaime?_ He was there, was he not? Or was it someone else?

 

“Shara,” she heard distantly. “Shara, can you hear us?

\- Where is he?” she whispered painfully. “Where is he?

\- Who is she talking about?” Someone replied something she did not understand. “Is there nothing…

\- Am I… Am I dying?”

 

Someone grabbed her hand, but she never heard the answer to her question. She drifted away, drowning again the red sea of darkness she never quite managed to swim out of. She heard voices again, rising around her, but they quieted as soon as she closed her eyes.

 

_Renly refused to listen, of course. She never really thought he would actually listen to anyone except himself, but somehow she had the small hope that Catelyn Stark could succeed where both her and his own brother had failed. She was a grown woman, a mother whose children were in critical danger now that a full-fledged war had begun. Her son was leading an army, one of her daughters was the Lannisters’ prisoner while the other was nowhere to be found… Renly was a rather thoughtful man, although he hardly spared more than some thoughts for others. It could have worked._

_But it did not, and Stannis was now determined to crush his brother’s armies. His last letter was strangely written, filled with barely veiled regrets and remorse. He was not pouring his heart out in any sense, but in his own way, he was expressing the full extent of his reluctance to attack his brother._ But it is my duty, _he wrote as his finishing line._ As Robert’s brother and only heir. _She scoffed when she read that last line by her candle’s flickering light. Just like her father, Stannis Baratheon called everything his duty. It must have been easier to think of his brother’s ultimate demise as part of his duty than to think of it as the easiest way to be one step closer to the throne, but she knew better. His true duty, the way her father would have seen it anyway, was to convince his brother to join him and return to his royal peace, regardless of the time he would lose trying to win him over._ This _, on the other hand, was just war. Ugly, dishonourable, demanding. She was getting used to it, now, and she was starting to realize just how much of an impediment Jon Arryn’s honour must have been all these years. How could he have won a war with so many rigid principles?_ If Rickard Stark had not died, _she thought as she dipped her quill in ink,_ he would have never betrayed his king. _And, although honourably, Jon Arryn would have kept a mad tyrant on the throne. She chuckled lowly as a thought hit. It was a good thing the mad king was truly mad, then, and murderous with that. Otherwise…_

 

Her own scream awakened her and suddenly the room around her appeared clearer than ever before. The pain had returned too, if it had ever left, and it irradiated her entire body. It was a _tearing, agonizing pain_ , as if someone was pulling every each of her limbs in different directions. But in her agony, she suddenly understood the full horror of the situation. She saw the blood, everywhere on the sheet, on the nightgown she was wearing, she heard Maester Rubben’s voice screaming orders. She felt the drops of sweat on her forehead, heard her own wailing of pain, _sheer pain_. Near her maester, a dark figure remained still, staring right at her. _Tywin._

Her throat was burning, as if she had screamed too much. She did not remember if she had screamed before, she just knew that her entire body was burning and that she was soaked in sweat, blood and tears. Her mind was filled with screams, yelling, shrieks that belonged to her and to many voices she did not recognize. Some were familiar, some were not. Some were ghostly, some were lively. From the corner of her darkening vision, she saw the maester rushing to her when she wailed again, her hands twitching randomly at her sides.

The pain subsided for a moment and she felt her head rolling on her shoulders. The sudden sharpness of her conscience started to fade but she was too exhausted and too far away already to care. She tried to reach for the maester when he wiped off the sweat from her forehead, but her arms felt too heavy. _Why is it not over?_ She felt shaken by sobs, or spasms, or maybe nothing at all. She asked that question, _why is not over?_ in a weak and whispered voice. Again, she did not hear the answer. She did not care. She just wanted it to stop. To stop…

 

_The sight of Tywin Lannister’s high and proud figure behind the bars of her cell was nothing short of incongruous. There was something laughable in the fact that she could not quite distinguish him, could not quite know where he began and where darkness ended, because his clothes were too dark. All she could see what the Hand’s insignia on his chest, catching the nearby torches’ light. She knew this insignia by heart, of course, and although other men had worn it since her father’s death, he must have been the first to actually wear the exact way Jon Arryn wore it. Pinned exactly where the heart was – a token of loyalty and honour for her father, but for Tywin Lannister, a token of pride and a reminder of just how powerful it made him._

_She felt small in front of him, and not just because she was seating. She thought she was used to the idea of him announcing her her demise. She had thought about it since they threw her into her cell – she had imagined what it would be like. The haughty stare of the court as they rested her hairless head on the chopping block. The sound of the blade whistling in the air. She imagined what it would be like to meet her father again and face his judgement. The idea was not so shocking anymore – such was her life, such was the way of the world. The winner could do whatever they wished of the losers._

_His hands were hidden behind his back as he observed her through the bars, like a lion observing the wounded bird he would soon feast upon. She could have stood up to stare back at him, but what for? Honour was not going to save her, and it did not change the fact that he was free to leave and she was locked in, that he had won and she had lost. Honour was a ravishing thing to think of, when she could still hope to win. Her honour was about to die with her._

_And it did, in a way, when he offered her something else than the block. Something had to die in this cell anyway – it could be her, or it could just be the ruins of a honour that could have never saved her. She chose the latter, when Tywin Lannister asked for her hand in marriage. What choice did she have? She could not just die, not so young, not with so many things left to do. Her honour would have lived on if she had preferred the executioner’s blade – but not so long. It would have died with her anyway. Perhaps there was some way to resurrect it, but she could only do that if she lived. So she did. She lived._

“… A choice, my Lord. She has lost a lot of blood already and the children…

\- _Enough._ ”

She still saw Tywin’s ghostly face though the bars of her cell when she opened her eyes again. This time she could not move. She could not do anything. She could just stare at the emptiness above her. Something touched her hand and she tried to squeeze it. She could not, but she managed to move her fingers enough to catch everyone’s attention around.

 

“My Lady, you have to hold on, this is almost over.

\- Over…

\- We will need names, my Lady. Can you think of names?

\- I…”

 

It took her a surreal effort to turn her head to look at the silhouette who was holding her hand. It was not the maester. It was tall, dark silhouette, with bright emerald eyes and furrowed eyebrows. When he realized that she was looking, something darkened his face. _Names…_ She had thought about names. She discussed names with Tywin. She could not remember any of them, though.

 

“I… I am…

\- My Lady?

\- Where is he?” she whispered again. She did not know who she was searching. She just knew someone should be here. “Where is…”

 

Her last word got lost in the maze of her tortured mind. The hand holding hers released it and the two silhouettes gathered a step away. Somehow, despite how painful her entire world was, she knew what it meant. She could not name it, she could not phrase it, but she knew that it meant that it was over – but not in the way the maester phrased it. She felt burning tears rushing down her face as a voice echoes in her head.

 

“My Lord, it is time.”

 

The two emerald eyes were staring at her, staring through her. This time she asked no question; but she did not hear his answer to his one. She never heard it. She slipped away, slowly but steadily, and the last thing she managed to see was the two shining emeralds that were staring at her in silence. Choosing. Condemning.

 

_Her world used to be as small as the Eyries were, at the beginning of another war. A world made of long corridors, empty rooms, cold halls and immense spires; a world made of the four walls of her bedroom and the many windows that overlooked the mountains and the valley. It was a beautiful world, easy to understand. When her father was working, she had to work too – but sometimes she managed to sneak out of her room and wander in the endless corridors, climbing the stairs of the many towers, searching for something new to add to her small world._

_Lately, Ned and Robert spent a lot of times in her tiny world. Her father loved them very much, although he never said it out loud. Her nurse said the same about her; he did not say it, but he loved her very much. He did not often come to see her study, the way he used to do a long time ago, because he was too busy with Ned and Robert. He was a strong man, her father, solemn and stern, and sometimes it only took a frown for her to apologize for things she never did._

_She sought him, sometimes, tracked him through the many corridors to steal a few minutes with him before he returned to his work. Sometimes he ignored her and ordered her to return to her room. He was happening more and more often, because now he also looked worried. If she managed to come once the difficult conversations were over, though, he softened a bit and allowed her to stay._

_So she did that. She waited for him to be done talking. When all the men left his workroom, she sneaked inside and waited for him to notice her, teeny tiny thing by his great door. He saw her immediately, of course, but he kept her waiting because she eavesdropped on his work. She was patient, though, so she just waited. After a while, he asked her if she had eavesdropped. She shook her head. He frowned. She admitted she did listen a bit. He remained silent before he gestured to sit next to him, by the great table in the middle of the room._

_She climbed on the nearby chair and admired what was on the table. A great map, with pawns in every colour and form. It was a beautiful sight, like a game of chess but with more colours._

_“Do you know what that is?” he asked her. She shook her head. “This is our realm. We are here.” He motioned some place on the map, where sky blue pawns were piled. “The king is here, in King’s Landing._

_\- Is that a game?_

_\- No, Shara.” She saw the shadow of a smile on his lips. “Some pretend it is. They call it the game of thrones._

_\- Is it a funny game?_

_\- Those who find it funny eventually lose. It is a dangerous, very dangerous game.”_

_She frowned. Why play a not-funny game? What was the point of these pawns, if moving them around was not funny? Her father laughed and leaned on the table when he noticed her frown. She did the same, but she did not know why. She just knew that everything her father did was important, so she had to do exactly as he said. He remained silent for a very long time before he spoke again._

_“But it is very important. It involves many lives, many people._

_\- Is that why you spend all your days here, father?_

_\- Some spend their days fighting for it,” he replied. She did not understand why people would fight over a not-funny game. “One day, you will play too._

_\- I do not want to play a dangerous game, father._

_\- I am afraid you will not have much choice, Shara. We must all fulfil our duties.”_

_He raised his eyes and looked at her. It was so rare for her to be able to talk with her father that she did not dare speak again, or ask why she would not have the choice. She just smiled politely, the way her nurse ordered her to smile to important people. He grabbed her face in his hand and stoked her cheek a bit too harshly. She did not fight him. It was so rare that her father even touched her._

_“You cannot yet understand, young one. But one day you will._

_\- I can understand now, father. I am already very old!_

_\- You did grow up, indeed.” He smiled and let go of her face. “When you play, you cannot find pleasure in it or satisfaction. You cannot seek your own gain. You need to remain honourable in every instant, whatever it cost. What are our words?_

_\- As high as honour!_

_\- Never forget it. When you play, you play as high as honour, and when you win, it is either honourably or not at all. You understand?_

_\- Yes father. I promise I will play the way you want me to._

_\- I know you will, sweet child.”_

_He ran a hand through her curly hair. He spent the rest of the afternoon showing her Westeros and every each of its kingdom. The cold, unforgiving North, the sweet Reach, their beautiful Vale and, far in the West, the distant Iron Islands. She listened, eyes wide open, trying to carve it all in her memory. He was sharing great secrets with her, the kind only Lords could know, so she had to remember everything. She was very proud to say that House Lannister ruled the very wealthy lands of the West and that their emblem was a golden lion. She solemnly nodded when her father told her that he had much hope they would help him bring back peace, when the war would be over._

_She did not understand too well what war was and why people fought because of it. She just knew that her father hated it and that it could not be a good thing if he hated it – her father always knew what was right and what was wrong. When she declared that she hated war too and that peace was the most important thing ever, he smiled approvingly. It was so rare that she was almost surprised._ When I am older, _she promised herself_ , I will be as high as honour and behave honourably like father.

_She was supposed to ask him what was at the other side of map, but when she tried to, she did not manage to speak. She was supposed to follow him outside the room, to apologize to her septa for escaping her, but when she tried to follow him, she did not manage to move. She was stuck in the middle of the room, staring at her father as he headed for the door. He was supposed to leave, but he stayed. He closed the door. When she managed to look around, the map has disappeared, as well as the pawns. The table was covered by a large sheet of rough fabric and the room was completely empty. A cold draft sent shivers down her spine._

_The man who turned his back on the door and looked at her was not the man who had played with the war pawns. He was older. He was colder._ Lord Jon Arryn, _she thought. The way he looked when he died. Smaller. Less impressive, because the years did not spare him. His sky-blue eyes were staring right at her, right_ through _her. They were filled with contempt, anger. Disgust. Her heart sunk._

_“Is that how you kept your promise?” he asked. His voice echoed in the empty room. “Perjuring yourself? Perjuring your name?_

_\- I was not given any choice.” Her voice was weak, just as weak as the child she used to be. “You never gave me any choice._

_\- I warned you. I taught you your entire life that it would never be easy, and yet you gave in so easily. You are not an Arryn._

_\- Without me, your house would have disappeared. I had to live!_

_\- Not at all cost.”_

_She shivered again. It never happened, of course. Her father never got to judge her – he died before he could. It never happened and yet she felt like she had already lived this a hundred times before. Nothing he could say could be worse than what she already told herself. She had been sentenced already, by a much harsher judge than he could ever be; herself._

_She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, she made one step, two steps toward him. Jon Arryn’s face transformed into Stannis Baratheon’s, and somehow both of their faced got mixed up. She faced them both, staring right at them back in the eyes. She was done feeling sorry, and guilty, and cursing herself for the choices she made. They were_ dead.

_“Everything I have, I gave you. Everything I could do, I did it for you. I sacrifice everything I could sacrifice to avenge you. To crown you king.” Her voice sounded colder now, as well as the room. “While all you ever gave me was distance, disinterest and contempt. I would have died for you, for both of you!_

_\- You should have.” It was her father’s voice, but this time she did not cower. “History will remember our honour, Shara. It will remember that we died as men and not as beasts. How will it remember you?_

_\- History will not remember you.”_

_She shook her head, chuckling lowly. She could not possibly know what historians would say of her; she did not know what would happen to her and her name once dead and gone. But history was forgetting them already. Who remembered Jon Arryn, now that a war was just over and another one brewing? Who remembered Stannis Baratheon, except the burning ashes of the Duskendale? They were_ dead _, and history was moving on._ Dead, _she thought. They were dead. Why were they here?_ Why am I here?

_“History will forget you,” she whispered. “It already has. What did you ever do, father, except lead two men to early graves? And you, Lord Baratheon, what did you ever do except doom your house to vanish entirely?_

_\- You never…_

_\- I ended the war you begun. I protected the Vale you left unguarded. I ensured the realm would not starve despite what your war did to its people and before long, I will destroy the last enemies of the realm.” She took a deep breath and made another step. “If honour is the only thing you have, by all means, keep it. I take the rest._

_\- And yet you died like a common woman.”_

_She blinked and froze. No, she had not died – not yet, not now. Why would she had died anyway? She was young, she was healthy, she was winning. She had no reason to die. She looked down, looked at her hands. They were covered in blood. She gasped and tried to wipe it off, but she realized she was covered in blood from head to toe._ No, no, no! _She raised her head again and stared back at Lord Jon Arryn again._ No!

 

_“I am not dead. Not yet.”_

_She repeated it, repeated it, until the entire room became red and blurry, then dark all around her. She tried to move, but could not. She heard voices, her name uttered, screams, but she could not speak. When the entire world turned to black, she tried to scream back but no sound left her throat. She tried to open her eyes, but she was not even certain they were closed._ Am I awaken? Am I dead? _She wanted to wake up, but the black nothingness swallowed her whole like a shroud – like a sea of ink. Why could she not wake up?_

I do not want to be dead.

I do not want to die.

Not like this.


	44. Gloria Regali

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of this first part, guys! Let's see each other at the end for more information on what's to come!

The first thing she managed to move was her fingers – her right-hand fingers. They were hit by a ray on sunlight, warming them through the windows. For a while it was also the only thing she was sure to feel, this warmth. It was a nice feeling. It was entering a warm bath after a long day, and gradually every part of her body that was not grazed upon by the sun felt sore. Not exactly painful, but stiff.

After a while, although she would not have been able to say after how long exactly, she heard a door opening and closing. Someone stepped in, moved the curtains. The warmth on her hand shifted and reached part of her arm and her face as well. It vanished when this someone walked closer and placed a hand on her forehead. It was a rather cold hand. It stayed there for quite some times, probing her arms, her neck, touching her hair.

She managed to open her eyes when the someone stepped away. They fluttered and she did not manage to keep them open very long – the light was blinding. She moaned in discomfort. Something fell, on the other side of the room. She tried to turn away from the brutal light but this small move practically emptied her of the little forces she had. The light turned off almost violently as the curtains were pushed closed and she managed to actually look around.

It was her room, her bed. _What am I doing in my bed so late in the day?_ She could not quite remember what had happened here, but given how hard it was for her to move, she knew something had happened. She heard something dragged on the paved floor and a face appeared above hers. _Maester Rubben._

 

“Maester?” Her voice was terribly hoarse and trying to speak caused her to cough. She winced. “Gods…

\- You should not try to speak just now, my Lady,” he told her, seemingly completely stunned. “It is… Truly a miracle that you can speak at all.

\- A… Miracle?

\- You almost died, my Lady, and by all accounts you should be dead by now.” She blinked a few times, unable to comprehend what he was trying to say. “You lost an immense amount of blood. You have been delirious for days, the fever refused to subside and we… Well, I…

\- Lost hope.”

 

He only nodded. _I should be dead by now,_ she repeated mentally. She knew it was true, but she still could not quite understand… When he took one of her hands to test her reflex, she watched him and looked at her own hands. _There was blood,_ she recalled. _So much blood._ She was so cold too. She was dying, she remembered now, and all she could see were…

She gasped for air and Maester Rubben immediately reappeared in front of her. He urged her to calm down and breath slowly. She tried to, forced herself to, as it all came back. _He had to make a choice._ What choice did he make? She looked around her frantically, searching for the answer. She was alive; she should have died. _Did he choose me?_ If he did then… Then…

 

“ _Please_ , calm down, you have to remain calm!” He pushed both of her shoulders down and effectively prevented her from moving. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly, but firmly. “You are still extremely weak. Your body will not be able to sustain more efforts.

\- But my…

\- Your sons are in the best of health. They are being taken care of by wet-nurses, chosen by the Lord Hand himself.

\- My… My sons?

\- Twins, my Lady. You have had twins, two boys. It explains why your pregnancy was taking such a toll on you so early.” Seeing that she was not trying to fight him back, he released her and sat on the stool he had dragged with him. He was smiling but his smile was apologetic. “I should have known, my Lady. I am sorry.”

 

 _Twins._ Two boys – healthy and alive. She smiled back, tried to anyway, as she was slowly processing the full meaning of this. Two sons. She never even imagined it could happen, but it made sense. Tywin already had had twins, it ran in his blood. She tried to reach for her belly but barely managed to move her hand. From what she could see, it was no longer swollen – not as much as it had been anyway.

 _What choice did he make?_ The question haunted her foggy mind still. Did he make any choice at all? Confronted with the possibility of a dying wife again, did he refuse to choose? Given how Maester Rubben looked at her, she understood what he knew the answer to her question – and that he knew she was about to ask it. He looked away. _He will not say._ He promised he would do everything he could to avoid this choice, but he eventually could not.

 

“You have been unconscious for a long time,” he continued, avoiding the question. “You need to rest.

\- How long?

\- A little more than a week, my Lady.

\- A week?” She looked around, trying to find so proof of the amount of time she had spent unconscious. Nothing had changed, though – the same letters on the desk, the same curtains on the windows. “How?

\- As I said, it is something of a miracle that you are awaken now. Most of the court was… Mourning you already.”

 

There was a hint of humour in his voice, but something darker too. He was not wearing black, but it was not surprising. He was wearing his usual robe. She remained quiet for a long time, making sense of all this. _Jaime,_ she thought, suddenly remembering that he was there when she… _I gave birth. To sons._ There were too many things to make sense of, too many information she did not know how to process. It was almost painful. She winced and shook her head slowly.

 

“I… I cannot…

\- You need to sleep, my Lady. This is all you have to do now, the realm can survive without you for another week.” He placed a cool hand on her forehead. It was soothing, in a way. “The Lord Hand will be most pleased to hear that you have awakened.

\- Is he… Mourning?

\- No, and he rebuked quite a few people who tried to offer him their condolences.” She smiled. “You would have appreciated the spectacle, I am sure.

\- And… My sons?

\- You will see them as soon as you have recovered enough. Just be sure that they are perfectly healthy and that they have only too many wet-nurses at their disposal and too many guards at their door.”

_Tywin,_ she thought. She smiled weakly and let him do whatever he wanted with her hands, neck, face and legs. He was right, as he often was, when he said she needed sleep. As soon as he disappeared from her sight, she slowly, but comfortably, fell back into darkness. It was not painful this time – it was just right. As she drifted off, though, one haunting thought never left her mind. _What choice did he make?_

 

It was easier to wake up the second time. The cold woke her up, this time, and when she opened her eyes she saw that there was no sun shining outside her window. The sky was grey and a dying fire was burning near her bed. Someone had forgotten to add a log – thus the cold. She managed to almost sit against the headboard, this time, although it took her a very long time before she managed to rest her head against the cold wooden board.

She detailed her surrounding in silence. Nothing had changed at all, except for the agonizing flames in the fireplace. She simply noticed an armchair, placed near her bed. It took her a few seconds to remember that Maester Rubben had dragged it there when she first awoke. Her thoughts were clearer, this time, but she had to concentrate to remember everything. The twins. Tywin, refusing to mourn her and rebating the courtiers for presenting him their condolences. She smirked at the thought. As she was staring at the burnt log, she barely heard the door opening.

 

“My Lady?”

 

She turned her head a bit too fast. She winced and closer her eyes, trying to fight back the dizziness. When she opened them again, she saw Maester Rubben rekindling the fire with a clean log and a poker. Her eyes followed him as he sat on his armchair. _It was a stool,_ she corrected herself. _He brought a stool, not an armchair._ He smiled, less surprised this time than the first.

 

“You took your time to wake up.

\- How long?” Her voice was still hoarse, for lack of using it, but it was no longer awfully painful. “This time?

\- Two days. But I was not worried, you were just sleeping.

\- A two-days sleep is… A long sleep.

\- But your body fought for a week,” he noted. “You can allow him two days to rest.”

 

He touched her forehead, pressed his hands on the side of her neck, tested her reflexes and nodded with a smile. She still felt very weak – moving her arm slightly to the side left like dragging a dead weight for miles. _To think I climbed a mountain a few months ago,_ she thought bitterly. She accepted the soup he brought her, but refused to let him feed her at first. When she realized that she was not able to lift the spoon without her hand shaking, she allowed him. It was humiliating, but it must have happened before anyway. She refused to think about it as she focused on swallowing. _Even this is sore._

 

“Your sons are still perfectly healthy,” he commented as he patiently waited for her to drink the entire bowl, spoon by spoon. “Quite demanding, as their wet-nurses complain.

\- Demanding?

\- They are very hungry. It is normal, of course, they were born quite small.” She frowned slightly. “Twins are always smaller than most babes, my Lady. There is nothing unusual in that.

\- Will they grow?

\- They already have, my Lady. You shall see for yourself.”

 

She nodded and finished her bowl thoughtfully. She wished to see them, of course, but somehow she could not quite process the idea of them being… Born, at last. She had carried them for so long, thinking of them as burdens and obstacles on her path, that somehow she had forgotten that they were living beings. As Maester Rubben was writing some lines on his journal, she looked outside her window.

The sky was grey and very little light actually reached the room. There were candles, here and there, to imitate the sun. _It looks like a snow sky,_ she thought. The North usually had this kind of sky above its lands, and sometimes flakes of snow fell off to cover the lands. Perhaps winter had not yet come that far south, but it soon would.

 

“The Lord Hand,” Rubben slowly said. “Has expressed the wish to see you as soon as you awoke again.

\- I am sure he has.” She turned her head to him. “I am also sure he is busy now.

\- When is he not?” Silence lingered between them as he closed his journal. “He insisted.

\- What are you waiting for, then? Do tell him.” He nodded, bowed quickly. She hailed him before he left. “About Ser Jaime…

\- He has left, my Lady. A few hours before you awoke for the first time.”

 

He lingered a bit, and left the room. She looked at the door for a while. _He is gone,_ she thought. She could not name the feeling that tightened her heart, but it was not nearly as painful as everything she remembered feeling about him. There was remorse, of course, but mainly regrets. This wound, though, like all the others, would heal. In time.

She heard Rubben’s voice in the corridor and it took her back to her reality. _So now Maester Rubben no longer fears the Lord Hand, but rather awaits my order._ She could not be certain of course, but she was almost certain that, had she told him not to warn _the Lord Hand_ , he would have kept her awakening secret. _What happened to the man who refused to lie?_

Perhaps his change of heart was justified by something _the Lord Hand_ did. Or said. _He knows._ She closed her eyes. He knew, but even if she asked him, he would refuse to tell her. He _asked_ the question, and he heard the choice. Did Tywin ask him to save the children? _I would be dead if he had._ She knew exactly what happened to the women sacrificed for their child. Cut in half, to tear the babe away. They died, all of them. Did he ask him to save _her,_ then?

She heard voices in the corridor and the door opened again. Tywin stopped by the doorway when he saw that she was looking back at him, and slowly closed the door behind him. His face was absolutely unreadable – the way it always was. She heard more doors closing and opening outside, more voices as well. _He had a meeting._ And he just stopped it. She tried to raise her hand to gesture him to sit, but she barely managed to lift her hand at all. If he noticed it, though, he made no comment over it. He just sat, seemingly not surprised to see an armchair so closed to her bed.

 

“You have finally awoken again,” he said. She raised an eyebrow. “Your maester said it could take a few hours, maybe a dozen. I did not expect two days.

\- I suppose I always knew how to defeat expectations.

\- And beat the odds, as it seems. Even your ungodly maester spoke of miracles.

\- Well, that should not surprise you.” She smiled. “I always bet against the odds.”

 

A corner of his lips curled up, ever so slightly. There was no answer in the emerald eyes that were staring at her – nothing to answer the question she dared not ask. _Perhaps it is better like that,_ she thought. _Perhaps I should not know._ It was not like her to refuse to know the truth, but this particular truth terrified her. What would she do, if he told her he chose the children instead of her? What would she say, if he told her he chose her instead of the children? _It should not matter. We are all alive._ But it did. Despite her, despite her reason, it did matter.

She shrugged off the thought and the question, knowing full well that it would haunt her her entire life. _Another ghost to haunt me._ She had other ghosts, more dangerous, more painful than this one after all. She could make room for another. _In the empty white room, at the top of the Eyrie, where the mountain meets the sky._ Where she had hidden everything she wanted to keep out of sight.

 

“Half of the court was about to mourn you,” he added. “The queen was not amongst them, but some of her ladies were.

\- Maester Rubben told me you scolded them for that. What a spectacle that must have been.

\- One you surely would have appreciated, had it not been because of you.

\- Are you expecting an apology?

\- For almost dying in childbed?”

 

His voice had taken a strange tone when he asked that question. For a second, so little as one second, she saw a shade in his eyes she had never quite seen before. _For almost dying like her,_ was what this shade meant. Before she even knew, though, the shade had disappeared and he had regained his usual composure. She did not answer his question, of course. He expected no answer.

She concentrated on her right hand to raise it, and reached for the insignia on his chest. It was tilted, again. He let her set it right, and grabbed her hand when he noticed its slight tremor. His fingers were cold around hers, colder than the rest of the room now that the fire was actually burning. He kept her hand in his for some times, more than necessary, before putting it back on the bed.

 

“Twins, then,” she said with a smile. “One could say I did more than my share of the agreement.

\- One could say that, indeed. As usual you could not do things the way the rest of the world does them.

\- It runs in your blood, not mine. Have you seen them?

\- I have. They are healthy boys, as far as I can tell. They do have one peculiarity, though.” She frowned, alarmed by his secrecy. He kept her waiting for a few seconds before continuing. “They have your eyes, as well as mine.

\- What do you mean they have both of our eyes?

\- They have one green eye, and one blue eye.”

 

She blinked. It took a few seconds for her slowed-down mind to understand exactly what he meant. _They have mismatched eyes,_ she realized. _Like some of the Targaryens of old._ She had read tales about one of them. The last of the Great Bastards, offspring of Aegon the Fourth, Shiera Seastar. For most people, a babe born with mismatched eye was cursed; but most people still believed the Gods punished them when their crops died, and favoured them when the reaping was plentiful.

The idea pleased her. A Lannister eye, an Arryn eye; the two heirs of both Casterly Rock and the Eyrie were Valemen as well as Westermen, and had their father and their mother’s blood. It was adequate. The realm would hear about it, because this kind of rumours spread fast and far. _The heirs of House Lannister and Arryn._ She nodded to herself and smiled.

 

“That is quite adequate, is it not?

\- I suppose it is. We shall see if the colours endure, or if one of them shall fade.

\- Knowing the both of us, I do not think any of our colours is going to give way to the other.” He scoffed and smirked. She paused to look at him for a moment, and asked. “How did you name them? We only discussed one name.

\- And one of them is named Alec, as we decided.

\- What about the other, then?”

 

They did not discuss it as length. They just agreed on a rather neutral name – one that did not ring as “too western” or “too eastern”. They had also settled on a name for a girl. But they did not exactly make a list. They just chose two, because it was obviously enough. His smirk faded and his seriousness returned. A subtle gleam appeared in his eyes and he seemed to be trying to find the best way to answer her question. She waited, patiently.

 

“I did not name him for a long time. I figured that you might want to participate in the decision,” he slowly said. “Your maester insisted after a while, for reasons I can hardly remember.

\- Probably something about his psyche.

\- You did choose a rather persistent maester. He did not give up.” _You bet he did not._ “I had a few ideas. I almost named him Tion, after one of my uncles.

\- A rather hideous name, if you want my opinion. Why did you change your mind?

\- When it became clear that only a miracle could save your life, it also became clear that these two children would be all that would be left of House Arryn.”

 

She did not say anything. Tywin did not care about House Arryn – not really, anyway. All he cared about was his own house and its expansion. With her dead and two children at his disposal, the Vale would have been his by right, until one of the twins came of age to rule it himself. If anything, her death would have made things easier, especially if he chose an Arryn name for one of the twins. But it was not about House Arryn and it was not about House Lannister either. A name was nothing compared to the amount of power Tywin Lannister wielded. If he wanted one of his sons to rule the Vale, he would – his name would not matter.

 _It is about me._ She cared about House Arryn, more than she said. She cared about her legacy, and her House’s legacy. She cared about decorum, she cared about history. And he knew that. Naming one of their children like a true Arryn was not a way for him to honour House Arryn or to make things easier. _It was a way to honour me._ One last time, as she was slowly but surely dying, he chose a name that had weight for her, _meaning._ A name that would ensure that the entire world remembered her and the things she had done to protect her name, her house and her lands.

 

“You named him Jon,” she softly said. “Did you tell yourself that it would make it easier for him to rule over the Vale, when he would come of age?

\- I did.

\- It surely is the official reason.” She stared back at him and for a long time, there was not a sound betwixt them. Just this long, meaningful stare. “The world could not know that you did it for me, could it?

\- The world does not need to know everything.

\- Lest it realizes that there is a man behind the ice.”

 

He did not say anything. He did not need to. She had survived – despite the odds, against them maybe, she had survived and she would live to see her children grow. One of them would forever bear the name of the man who created her; who made her, shaped her and, in doing so, destroyed her. She would bear the scars her entire existence, and drag the ghost of the woman he wanted her to be like a burden. But he would also be the living proof that what the first Jon Arryn jeopardized, his daughter saved: their name, their house, their lands. The second Jon Arryn was born on the ashes of the first, just as House Arryn was reborn on the ruins of what it used to be. As high as honour; as high as necessary.

She took his hand on the bed and slipped her fingers between his. He did not resist. He did not really embrace her either, he just let her. She had survived what should have killed her. Come fire and blood now; she would withstand it. She smiled to herself and chuckled. He frowned, slightly.

 

“I have regained control over the Vale and you have heirs,” she eventually said. “We have both carried out our duties and our agreement is now void. What happens now?

\- I have tried to answer that question for you more than once before, but I have come to understand that no one can impose you a fate.” He smirked. “Not even me.

\- I must say I enjoyed being underestimated for so long, but I suppose all good things must come to an end.”

 

 _At least this one thing._ They shared another long stare. He already knew what she was going to say, of course. She was not going to leave – she was not going to return to her mountains, she was not going to leave King’s Landing and hole up somewhere. She belong exactly where she was, next to him, in the silence of her room. She was never going to leave; she never wanted to leave.

 

“It all began with a common enemy,” she slowly said. “Let us destroy the next one.

\- We have already begun.

\- Then let us finish it.” She looked behind him, at the windows. Small, white dots floated lazily in the sky and started to cover the railing of her balcony. “Come winter and snow.

\- Come fire and blood.”

 

They looked at each other and smiled. It was not over – it had just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it! The first part of Tywin and Shara's tales is now over! What a long way they've come together, right?
> 
> I have already begun to write about them again, because what else can I do while I'm stuck at home? I won't put it online just yet, to make sure I have enough materials to update consistently - but worry not, you will eventually read it!
> 
> I am so glad you guys like this Shara's story as much as I do. Writing about her really is a challenge - I don't think I'm half as smart as she is.   
> Writing about Tywin is even more complicated, especially when the whole point is to remain true to his incredibly complex character. 
> 
> Anyway, this is just a goodbye until next time! In the meantime, stay home, take care of yourself and take care of your loved ones. Bye!


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